


Yaim’vhetin

by Fox (Foxen)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Parenthood, Adoption, Autistic Character, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Soldiers, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Flashbacks, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Issues of consent and autonomy, Kuiil lives, Mando'a, Mother-Son Relationship, Nightmares, Non-Linear Narrative, Nonbinary Character, Nonverbal Communication, Other, Panic Attacks, Poor Self Care, Post-Order 66, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Blame, Serious Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Survivor Guilt, Trauma, complicated relationship, dintrospection, flawed thinking, graphic resetting of a dislocated shoulder, interludes, parental anxiety, references to past death of children, soft moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxen/pseuds/Fox
Summary: Yaim’vhetin: (n) homeland, the place where current home isThis is a story aboutrelationships-- the complicated ways in which the lives of two or more people can be threaded together.This is also a story aboutloss-- the different ways in which people might filter in and out of the lives of others.But this is also a story aboutlove-- the many, varied ways it is possible to love others and be loved in return -- andrecovery-- the ways people find solace, hope, and peace after experiencing something that changes their lives forever.----Din has experienced many life altering moments, some more benign than others. He followed a creed. He lost his parents. He re-discovered family. He lost his people, himself, and everything he held most dear.This is the story of those moments.It is also the story of how he rediscovers himself by rescuing a Child, finds healing through his relationships with others, and makes his own life worth living for.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, Din Djarin & Bo-Katan Kryze, Din Djarin & Cara Dune, Din Djarin & Original Character(s)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 115





	1. Echoylir: (v) Grieve, search, mourn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Legacies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22015036) by [EffieAgo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EffieAgo/pseuds/EffieAgo). 
  * Inspired by [You're Not In This Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23016493) by [Itsagoodthing (itzagoodthing)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzagoodthing/pseuds/Itsagoodthing). 



> This fic has been in progress since mid-May. It started as a thought, a feeling, a need....and next thing I knew I had an outline for a 19 chapter fic. I currently have the first 3 chapters fully written out and the rest are meticulously outlined. I know exactly what direction this fic is going to take and how I'm getting there.
> 
>  **IMPORTANT NOTE:** Tags will be updated as I post to help keep spoilers to a minimum, including character tags. If any particularly triggering tags are added, I will mention them specifically in my author's notes. Please note, however, that this fic will be touching on sensitive topics, including the Purge and the ongoing genocide of the Mandalorian people. 
> 
> Because this fic uses an extensive amount of Mando'a, I'm trying something different with the glossary. Each word or phrase in the fic will include a hyperlink that will direct you to the definition at the bottom of the fic. You should be able to click on them whether you are on desktop or mobile. To go back to where you were reading, simply tap the [return]. Please let me know if any links break or don't work properly; this is my first time using such extensive html in a fic and there are a _lot_ of definitions. 
> 
> Special thanks to [Kata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DifferentFrequency) and [Itsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsagoodthing) for the beta reading and workshopping. You guys are such an amazing help. More thanks goes out to [Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sred) and [Lia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleluna0304) for their heartfelt encouragement and cheerleading. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. 
> 
> This fic wouldn't be nearly as good as it is without the support of these wonderful people. Thank you.
> 
>  _Disclaimer: Chapter 1 of this fic uses dialogue from episode 8 of The Mandalorian. This dialogue was taken from wikitranscripts and no copyright infringement is intended -- I have written this entirely for my own pleasure and seek no profit from it._
> 
> I will try to update this at least once a week, but I'm currently doing a full time internship so we'll see if I can keep to it. No guarantees tho!

**9 ABY, Summer**  
\-------------------------

Din looks through the remains of the front of the cantina, his heart thudding hard in his chest. Dozens of stormtroopers stand in formation outside, every weapon primed and aimed in their direction. The new man, whoever he is, stands front and center, his black cape billowing behind him. 

It’s unnervingly quiet.

_"Osi'kyr!”_ [1] he viciously curses under his breath as he ducks back down.

Cara is doing the same, her eyes wide as she turns to him. “Is there another way out?” she asks, a hint of desperation in her voice.

“No, that’s it!” Karga responds, gesturing with his gun from behind the pillar where he had taken shelter. There’s sweat dotting his brow and Din can make out the slightest tremor in the hand holding the blaster.

His mind races. There’s got to be another way…

He looks up at Karga. “What about the sewers?”

Karga’s brow furrows. “Sewers?”

Din pushes down the urge to sigh -- now is not the time for redundant questions -- and looks towards Cara. “The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get there, they might be able to help us escape.”

Cara nods, a look of relief crossing her face. “Yeah, sewers are good!”

Quickly toggling his HUD’s options on his vambrace, Din turns towards the back of the building. “Checking for access points,” he murmurs at his companions. He’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for but he hopes he’ll recognize it when he sees it.

“What the fuck are they waiting for?” he hears Cara ask from behind him.

His helmet picks up the sounds of quick steps and machinery being moved from outside as Cara tensely says, “Hold up.”

He resists the impulse to look back, trusting that she will keep him updated.

“They’re setting up an E-Web,” she continues, her voice edged in fear and disbelief. Din feels his stomach bottom out.

Karga lets out a shocked gust of breath. “It’s over.”

Din determinedly continues scanning the back of the cantina, refusing to believe that this is it. Relief washes over him as he finds an access point, his HUD marking the spot with a flash of red.

“I found the sewer vent.”

Cara immediately starts moving towards him. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Din gives her a sharp nod and the three of them make their way to the vent, careful to keep low to avoid being seen by the troopers outside. They have to pull a bench down to get to the grate itself but it comes away easily with a few hard tugs.

The grate itself won't budge.

Din picks up the sound of the parts of the E-Web clicking into place and dread settles into his gut. He stubbornly ignores it and continues to work at the grate, tugging at it alongside Cara with all he’s got.

"It's assembled," he says as calmly as he can when he hears the distinct sound of a high energy weapon powering up. He's glad his helmet's modulator disguises the slight tremor he feels creep into his voice. 

“How long until that thing’s cleared?” Karga asks, his fear making him impatient as he looks between the front of the cantina and back down to where Din and Cara are still struggling.

“Blow it!” Cara snaps at Din.

Din steps away and pats his belt where he usually holds his charges. “ _Osik,_ [2] I’m out!”

Cara strides past him and grabs her blaster rifle from the floor where she dropped it. “Get out of the way!” she yells, and Din has only a moment to shift aside before she’s leveling the blaster at the grate and letting out a stream of gunfire. Once she has managed to take out a few bars, she stops and tries to kick it in, but it still refuses to budge.

From the front of the cantina comes an unmodulated voice, its tone clear and commanding; the three inside can’t help but to pause and listen.

“Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation. I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration.” Din snorts softly under his breath, very much doubting this man would hesitate to use more violence.

The man continues, “Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model.”

Din cuts his eyes over to Cara as she stands up from where she was still working on their exit. Her eyes have gone wide, her expression a complicated mix of shock, grief, and rage. 

“Or, perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin, has heard the songs of the Siege of Mandalore, when gunships outfitted with similar ordnance laid waste to fields of Mandalorian recruits in The Night of a Thousand Tears.”

He continues talking, but Din can no longer hear what he is saying over the sounds of decade old shouting and blaster fire.

_“Gev, Din! Hiibir ade bal eyaytir olar. Aranar kay'ni bal cuyamir. Slanar!”_ [3]

_Hesitancy, smoke, the coppery tang of blood, indecision, fear. It’s all a blur._

_“Shaadlar! Val cuun vencuyot!”_ [4]

_He runs._

_Blaster fire, screaming. The scent of heated metal. The rumble of the ship’s engines as they start up. Muffled sobbing from the dark belly of the ship._

_He feels his heart break. He wants to offer comfort but he must focus on getting them out alive first._

_The ship jolts and a child screams. He keeps flying, the ground rushing past, afraid to pull up too quickly and risk being seen._

_The sobs die off to a few hiccups, the murmuring of the older kids soothing the younger. The longer they fly, the more he begins to relax._

_It’s a mistake._

_They’re blasted sideways. Alarms wail, blending into the terrified yelling of his charges. He looks back. The flashing lights reflect off dust helmets and terrified eyes, there and gone again. There and gone again. He turns back to the controls, trying to figure out what’s still working.The acrid scent of the engine burning nearly makes him choke despite his helmet’s filters._

_They’re hit again. And again._

_They go down._

_Pain. So much pain. Other than the crackling of nearby trees on fire, it’s quiet._

_He shoves a piece of the ship away from him. He’s sure he has broken bones and other wounds. Perhaps burns. But he can’t bring himself to care._

_The kids._

_He was supposed to keep the kids alive. Where were--_

_He wishes he had never looked for them._

_All of them. Every one of them de--_

“What about you, Mando?”

Din is pulled abruptly out of his memories at the sound of Karga addressing him. He doesn’t know what he’s being asked, but it doesn’t matter.

“I know who he is,” he says, voice dull. He sees Cara and Karga share a look before turning back to him, confusion plain on their faces. He elaborates. “It’s Moff Gideon.”

Cara’s confused expression morphs to shocked surprise, her eyebrows rising into her hairline. “No,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes!”

Din closes his eyes, wishing he was anywhere but there right now. “It’s him. He knew my name. _My full name._ ”

“So? What does that prove?”

He’s getting sick of Karga’s continuous questioning; now is not the time. “I haven’t heard that name spoken since I was a child.”

“On Mandalore?”

Din can’t help the small sigh that escapes him. “I was not born on Mandalore.” 

Karga shakes his head, confused. “But you’re a Mandalorian.”

“Mandalorian isn’t a race,” Cara cuts in, sharp eyes held on Din.

“It’s a _Creed_ ,” Din says, and between one breath and the next, he finds himself in yet another time and place, flashes of red cloth and blue armor dancing in his mind's eye. But this flashback is aching and familiar, where the other had been sharp and raw and he is able to ride it out without it consuming him. 

He takes a deep breath and continues. “I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps. I was treated as one of their own and took the last name of the one who adopted me, as is our way. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB officer during the Purge. That’s how I know it’s him.”

He’s shaking. That was the most he’s said in regards to the Purge since it happened. He hopes neither of his companions continue that line of questioning; he’s not sure he’d be able to hold it together.

Cara’s nodding, her brows creased in a troubled frown. “That’s how he knows who we all are.”

"He says he needs us, which means the Child got away safely. I was worried when Kuiil didn’t respond, but if they’d captured the kid, we’d already be dead.”

Cara jerks her chin at him. “Hail them again.”

Din taps quickly at his vambrace and then speaks into the comlink. “Come in, Kuiil.” He pauses, holds his breath. “Kuiil!” 

Silence. “Nothing. _Haar'chak!”_ [5]

Cara bites her lip. “They might have jammed the link.”

Before anyone can say anything else, the comm clicks on and they hear the sound of the Child squealing on the other end. There’s blaster fire and a giggle.

“Kuiil is alive.” It’s IG-11, his mellow mechanical voice cutting over the sound of more cooing.

Din feels rage bubble up and he snaps into his comlink, “What did you do? Where is he?”

IG-11 is unfazed. “He was shot by Storm Troopers. He is now resting and healing on your ship and will make a full recovery.”

Relief and trepidation fight within him as he closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a moment. “And now?" he asks warily, "What are you doing now?”

More blaster fire comes over the comms and he can hear the Child let out a trill and a sting of babble. IG-11 says over the noise, “I am fulfilling my base function.”

“Which is?” he asks, gritting his teeth.

“To nurse and protect.”

There’s a commotion outside the cantina and the three of them turn fully away from the grate to look out the shattered front windows. The troopers standing guard turn their attention from their building to something roaring up the street.

“Look!” Cara yells, her voice edged with wicked glee.

Din can just make out the form of IG-11 on the back of a speederbike, his guns firing. He jumps off the bike and it skitters uncontrolled to careen into the assembled Troopers as he continues to shoot at the others around him.

Quickly analyzing the growing chaos, Din sees their chance.

“Cover me!” he calls over his shoulder as he runs for the cantina entrance. Karga’s hot on his heels. They begin shooting as soon as they exit, not giving the Troopers a chance to respond to their presence.

From behind them, Cara lets out a rain of gunfire from the shattered front of the building, a rage-filled snarl erupting from her chest.

Din clears his way towards the E-Web and hauls it off its base, aiming into the ranks of Storm Troopers. With a grim smile, he unloads the weapon, watching with satisfaction as they drop one after another before him.

His HUD registers a blast from the direction of the cantina’s entry, but he doesn’t let himself lose focus; there are still too many Troopers. 

He barely registers the warning that flashes across his HUD before he’s knocked forwards, fumbling the E-Web. Pain explodes through his neck and shoulder, down into his arm and along his spine. He rights himself, his right arm hanging numbly at his side, and has just enough time to see Gideon raise his blaster and aim it at the E-Web’s power supply.

A flash and a cacophonous roar. The scent of charred metal and flesh. There’s nothing else but excruciating pain, the sounds of the fight around him muffled and garbled, nearly drowned out by an intense ringing in his head. And then nothing.

\--

He comes to consciousness again moments later and he groans at the pain radiating down his side and into his head. His ears are still ringing and his arm feels numb. Why is his arm numb? He struggles a little and slowly realizes that there’s something holding him up under his arms, banding tightly around his chest. He’s moving, his feet bumping through the dirt, each jarring motion sending another stab of agonizing pain through him.

“Stay with me, buddy. We’re gonna get you outta here.” Cara’s strained voice comes from right next to his head, fuzzy and overly loud and he groans again. 

There are more voices, but he can’t make them out. He stops moving and nearly whimpers in relief as he’s lowered to the ground, the pressure under his arms easing and with it, the pain.

“Stay with me.”

More talking, followed by gunfire and the ringing sound of straining metal.

He groans again and his vision finally starts clearing as the pain recedes into an unnerving numbness. He finds Cara crouching over him, her hand supporting his head and neck.

“I’m not going to make it. Go.” He draws in a sharp breath, the words taking more out of him than he expected them to.

“Shut up,” Cara responds, her eyes bright. “You just got your bell rung. You’ll be fine.” Her voice cracks on the last word.

He’s so tired. “Leave me…” 

Cara shifts and slides her hand out from under his neck. Her eyes grow wide and Din thinks he can see tears brimming in them, but it could just be his injuries messing with his vision again. 

He catches sight of his own blood as it drips down over her fingers and wrist.

_Ah. That would explain the dizziness_ , he thinks.

Cara starts tugging at the high collar of his shirt and shifting the cowl of his cloak out of the way.

“I’m gonna need to shift this down. I need to see how bad it is.”

Din grabs weakly at her hands. “No. Leave me,” he says again. He takes in a gasping breath, then another, as pain lances down his side again before fading once more into numbness. It leaves him dizzy and even weaker than before. “You make sure the Child is safe. Here…” 

Shakily, he reaches under his cowl and draws out a necklace. When he tries to lift it over his helmet, the last of his strength leaves him and his arm falls to his chest. He holds the pendant up to Cara with trembling hands and she takes it from him, drawing the cord over his head the way he couldn’t.

“When you get to the Mandalorian covert, you show them that. You tell them it’s from Din. You tell them the foundling was in my protection and they’ll help you.”

Cara looks at the mythosaur pendant in her hands before shifting her gaze back to him. There are definitely tears in her eyes now, and Din wishes he could stop them for her.

“We can make it,” she says, her voice shaky and broken.

Din tries to respond but his vision has gone fuzzy again. He doesn’t know how much blood he’s lost, but the side of his neck and down his back are hot and sticky with it. 

There’s an explosion from the front of the building and a wave of heat rolls over them. Din’s consciousness fades in and out with the billowing heat and for a second, an hour, a day, the heat and darkness is all he knows.

He comes back to himself again with a start at the sound of the vent grate finally crashing to the ground. But his awareness doesn’t last long. His vision starts to darken once more and he can hear Cara yelling at him. He’s too weak to protest this time when there is another tug at his collar, fully exposing the side of his neck and part of his shoulder.

Something ice cold blasts the wounded area and he lets out a sharp gasp, eyes clenched tight. Within seconds, however, his head slowly starts to clear and sensation returns to his fingers and arm. The ringing in his ears finally stops and he cautiously opens his eyes again. 

He’s weak, but alive, his vision regaining its usual focus. IG-11 is turning away from him and Cara is shaking her head.

“You fucking _asshole,_ ” she says, and Din can hear the bright relief in her voice. “You seriously almost left me alone to take care of your womp rat!” She grabs at his shoulders and hauls him to his feet. He’s unsteady and his left leg unable to take his full weight, but at least he’s able to move. “Come on, we’re getting out of here,” she says as she slings his arm over her shoulder. 

It’s an awkwardly tight fit to get down the sewer access, but the journey is short and the narrow space quickly opens up to the wider expanse of tunnels beneath the city.

Din stumbles, still dizzy from the blood loss, his left hip flaring in agony.

“I got you,” Cara says, balancing him with a hand on his chest. He sighs and leans against her, grateful for her steadfast strength.

“Do you know which way to go?” Karga asks.

Din shakes his head and turns on his helmet lamp. “No. I don’t know these tunnels. I’ve only entered from the bazaar.” Regret settles heavily in his chest. He never took the time to learn the covert properly, to stop and rest amongst his people here. Always on the move, always working, that was him.

The screaming cries of long dead foundlings echo through his head and he clutches tightly to Cara’s arm and closes his eyes, trying to banish the ghostly sounds.

Fuck Moff Gideon for unearthing that memory. He had it buried so deep for so long that he had hoped it would never resurface again.

“Well,” Karga says, totally unaware of Din’s inner demons, “if we get the smell of sulfur and we follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows.”

“And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety,” Din huffs. He’d nearly died not ten minutes prior and yet he still managed to have more sense than Karga. He briefly wonders how the man ever became the head of the Guild in that sector, but then decides he doesn’t want to know.

They continue down the tunnels, taking a turn here and a set of stairs there. 

“Ugh, this place is a maze,” Cara complains and Din can’t help but agree.

“Stop here. I can stand.”

His energy had been slow to return but he’s feeling strong enough to make it on his own now. He carefully pulls away from Cara and she keeps a hand at his lower back for a moment to make sure he remains steady on his feet.

At his nod, she pulls back and looks around. 

“I’ll try to find tracks…” he says, toggling through his HUD’s settings. Finding one that picks up patterns in his environment, he scans the ground around them until he’s able to make out boot prints. 

“We’re close. Turn here.” He leads the way down another tunnel and then down a short set of stairs.

Din turns his head, taking in the new room. There are knocked over crates and containers on the ground, their contents scattered about; clay pots have been shattered and the herbs and spices they had contained spill over the floor, leaving the air smelling pungent and earthy. The beam falls across another pile towards the center of the room and Din feels a deep sense of foreboding creep up his spine, though it takes him a second to process what he is seeing.

When he realizes what it is before him, he wishes he had moved on and kept scanning the room. He stops and reaches up to turn off his lamp, his trembling fingers taking a moment to find the switch. 

Walking toward the pile, his steps slow and hesitant, Din forgets about his companions. He forgets that they are being hunted. That they are wanted dead. 

For the third time that day, he feels like he’s dying.

Coming to a halt in front of the pile of _beskar'gam_ [6] and _buy’ce_ [7], his knees give out beneath him. He sinks to the floor, his head bowed, the pain in his leg and pelvis forgotton. Everything narrows down to the armor before him and he numbly picks up the closest helmet. It’s beaten and scuffed, the visor completely smashed in. Distantly, he notes the coloring and design painted on the _beskar_ . He hadn’t known the members of the Covert as well as he should have but he recognizes this _buy’ce_ ; it had belonged to Ru’tyll, a formidable warrior with a big laugh and a wicked right hook. She had two children. 

His heart lurches and he lowers the helmet, looking over the distressingly large pile for a glimpse of smaller, kid-sized helmets. Not seeing any, he takes in a deep shuddering breath. 

He wasn’t responsible for any more foundling deaths. They had gotten out, somehow.

He refuses to think about the possibility of even more piles of armor scattered throughout the tunnels or any other reason for the lack of child-sized armor here.

A crunch of a boot on stone to his right alerts him to the approach of another and it’s the only thing that keeps him from startling when Cara speaks.

“We should go,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Din shakes his head once. “You go. Take the ship.” He swallows. “I can’t leave it this way.” He looks at the helmet he still holds in his hands as a near overwhelming wave of emotion washes over him. 

Rage, grief, disbelief. Resignation. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, just that it’s left him feeling hollow and aching.

_“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,”_ [8] he murmurs, voice no louder than a breath. He turns his head towards Karga and this time he can identify the rage that flashes through him like a spark. 

“Did you know about this?” He asks, his voice harsh. “Is this the work of your bounty hunters?” It’s easier to turn the pain and anger he feels at himself onto another.

“No!” Karga’s voice is tinged with disbelief. “When you left the system, the fighting ended and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is--they’re mercenaries, not zealots!”

Din sets the helmet down. For a brief second, he’s nearly overcome by despair, the weight of yet another unimaginable loss almost too much. But he shoves the feeling down viciously and holds tightly to the earlier rage.

Grief is too big of a feeling. Too suffocating. 

Rage is easy.

He gets up and rounds on Karga, letting that rage push him forward despite the deep pain in his hip. “Did you do this?” he growls, getting in Karga’s face and jabbing him in the chest. To Karga’s credit, the man doesn’t back down. It only fuels his mounting fury. “Did you?!”

“No!” Karga snaps, pushing back at Din.

Before Din can open his mouth again another voice cuts over him, causing him and the others to jolt. 

“It was not his fault.” The commanding tone of the Armorer halts all further arguments and they turn to look at her, surprised. “We revealed ourselves. We knew what would happen if we left the covert.” Her voice is calm. Matter of fact. Din takes a step back from Karga as she makes her way over to the pile of armor to pick up a piece. She looks at it for a moment and Din wonders if she is thinking of its owner before she sets it in a floating cart she is pulling behind her. “The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This...is what resulted.” 

She’s so calm and matter of fact that for a brief moment Din has the wild urge to grab her by the shoulders.

_These were our people that you’re talking about!_ He wants to yell. 

Instead, he takes a step back towards Cara and the others, once again shoving all emotion aside.

_Later._ He could deal with it later.

“Did any survive?” he asks, proud of the way his voice doesn’t quaver. 

“Fortunately, yes.” 

“How many?” 

The Armorer places another piece of armor in her cart before turning to face him, her arms crossed. “A fair few. I believe we were able to get most of our _ade, yaihadla, bal ruug’la_ [9] off world with protection.” She gestures with her helmet in the direction of the armor pile; Din is very careful to keep his eyes averted, caught on the word _most_. “We lost about half of those who remained behind.”

“And the others?” 

“In the tunnels.”

Din looks down at his boots, lost in thought.

_Some had made it this time. It hadn’t been another total massacre._ He closes his eyes as relief courses through him, though guilt quickly follows once more. He takes a deep breath before opening his eyes. “Come with us,” he says, looking back up at the Armorer. She’s gone back to rummaging through the pile. “You and the survivors.”

“No,” she states plainly, holding up a _buy’ce_ before placing it, too, in the cart. “I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains. Though I cannot speak for the others.”

With that, she gets behind the cart and pushes it in the direction from which she originally came. Din watches her go for a moment before making the decision to follow. He toggles to the rear camera on his HUD to confirm the other three are behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  \------------------  
> 1] Osi'kyr : Fuck  [return]  
> \--  
> 2] Osik : Shit  [return]  
> \--  
> 3] Gev, Din! Hiibir ade bal eyaytir olar. Aranar kay'ni bal cuyamir. Slanar! : Stop it, Din! Take the children and flee here. Defend them and survive. Go!  [return]  
> \--  
> 4] Shaadlar! Val cuun vencuyot! : Move! They're our future! [return]  
> \--  
> 5] Haar'chak : Damnit  [return]  
> \--  
> 6] Beskar'gam : armor [return]  
> \--  
> 7] Buy'ce : helmet [return]  
> \--  
> 8] Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la : Not gone, merely marching far away [return]  
> \--  
> 9] ade, yaihadla, bal ruug'la : children, pregnant, and old  [return]  
> \------------------------
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos fuel the soul <3


	2. Yog: (n) Beginning, start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got so long that I ended up splitting it in half....I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you, [Kata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DifferentFrequency) and [Itsa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsagoodthing) for the beta reading, as always. You guys are such an amazing help. More thanks goes out to [Red](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sred) and [Lia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleluna0304) for their continued heartfelt encouragement and cheerleading. Additional thanks to [Iz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsoldeArcher) and EG for yet more beta work!
> 
> You guys all rock. Seriously.
> 
> Please let me know if any of the translation links are broken! There are a lot of them this time around....
> 
> _Disclaimer: Chapter 2 of this fic uses dialogue from episode 8 of The Mandalorian. This dialogue was taken from wikitranscripts and no copyright infringement is intended -- I have written this entirely for my own pleasure and seek no profit from it._

**9 ABY, Summer**  
\-------------------------

There’s something almost comforting about the blue glow of the forge’s flames and their steady low roar. Despite himself, Din feels some of the tension drain from his aching body and he savors the feeling as he takes a slow turn around the room.

He watches his companions file in behind him, surmising from their darting gazes and tense shoulders that the soothing effect of the forge doesn’t extend to them. And why should it? They had not spent countless hours in the light of an armorer’s forge, seeking wisdom and guidance. He doubts they even realize the honor that has been bestowed upon them; it is rare for _aruetiise_ [1] to be allowed within the walls of the covert, and even more so for them to look upon the flames and _mand'tal_ [2] of his people.

He turns his gaze to the Armorer, his _alor_ [3] for a little over half a decade now. She is as slow and methodical as ever as she takes one piece of armor at a time and lowers it into the flames to be melted down. But he can see now that he had judged her too harshly earlier; there is the smallest of tremors in her hands, a tenseness in her shoulders and back that belies her grief and fury.

“Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction,” she asks, her modulated voice still cool and controlled.

Din looks at IG-11 and jerks his head towards the Armorer. The droid carefully removes the flap of the bag covering the Child as he moves over so the Armorer can get a better look.

“This is the one,” Din says quietly, eyes focused intently on the small being. He blinks at him with large, tired eyes, his ears hanging low with fatigue.

The Armorer looks from the Child to Din, and back. “This is the one you hunted, then saved?”

“Yes,” Din says. “The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer hums and tilts her head as she looks at the Child. “From the mudhorn?” she asks, and Din picks up on the curiosity in her voice.

He nods. “Yes.”

“It looks helpless.”

Din can’t help his small smile as the Child ducks down into the bag with a soft coo, eyes narrowed slightly at the Armorer’s words. He's the picture of pouty irritation.  
“He is...tired. Injured, maybe, but not helpless. His species can move objects with their minds.”

With a hum, the Armorer returns to melting the armor down. “I know of such things,” she says.

Din whips his head from the Child to the Armorer. He immediately winces as the barely healed wound on his neck and shoulder flares in pain, an answering stab in his side making itself known, too; apparently he broke a rib or two at one point in the firefight. He makes a mental note to check later.

“The songs of eons past,” the Armorer continues, “tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called _Jetii_ [4] that fought with such powers.”

“Is he an enemy?” He asks. He glances at the Child, his chest aching from more than just the cracked ribs.

“No.” She continues working at the forge, scooping molten metal out to work with and shape. “His kind were enemies, but this individual is not.”

“What is he?”

The Armorer walks to one of the racks of tools along the back wall. “He is a foundling,” she says, her voice tinged with what could be considered mild amusement. “By Creed, he is in your care.”

The Child gurgles from his bag and Din looks from him to the Armorer. From the corner of his eye he sees both Karga and Cara turn to stare at him and he feels like he can’t breathe. His head throbs dully with the thud of his pulse and his vision blurs. He’s getting really tired of the day’s waves of emotion and he flexes his fingers as he’s hit with another one.  
Denial.

He’s never wanted to be a father and after all these months, he’s still unsure. He just doesn't feel suited for the role.

Fear.

He can’t be a father. He has no idea what he’s doing and he’s been responsible for so many deaths for far too many _adiike._ [5] He’s the last person anyone would want to raise a kid. He’d be awful at it and--

A soft coo comes from the bag and he darts his eyes over to it. Despite his helmet, the Child manages to meet his gaze and perks up his ears.

Joy.

Despite being hunted and on the run, the last few months with the Child have brought him a sense of peace - of belonging - that he’s not sure he’s felt for a very long time. The kid’s simple curiosity, his enthusiasm and excitement. His complete trust in him. Everything about the Child warms something in him that had been cold and nearly dead for so very long.  
He takes in a shuddering breath, holding the emotions in him for a moment, before letting them go as he exhales. More emotions to process later.

If they have a later.

He looks at the Armorer again and gestures at the Child. “You wish me to train him?” He's so small…

The Armorer scoffs lightly. “He is too weak and would die. You have no choice. You must reunite him with his own kind.”

The ball of warmth in his chest that managed to stay behind - despite setting his feelings aside - is doused with a numbing panic.

“Where?” He chokes out. The Child whines and he refuses to look at him this time.

Focused almost entirely on pouring the molten beskar into a mold, she responds with a dismissive, “This, you must determine.”

Din swallows down his frustration. “You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this foundling and deliver him to a race of enemy sorcerers?” It’s too much. This day is just...too much.

She stops for a moment and turns to stare at him. “This is the Way,” she intones, and Din looks away, gritting his teeth.

_Nu draar,_ [6] he thinks, resisting the urge to flinch as the Armorer swings her hammer down on the cooling metal. There has to be another option.

Before he is able to protest or ask another question, Cara moves away from the weapons she had been examining and approaches them.

“Hey,” she says, eyebrows raised. “These tunnels will be full of Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan.”

The Armor cuts in, “If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats. You should find a number of the Covert at the river’s edge, watching the entrance.”

Karga speaks up for the first time in a while, his arms crossed over his chest. “I think we should go…”

Din shakes his head. “I’m staying. I need to help her and I need to heal.”

“You must go.” The armorer picks up the piece she’d been working on and carries it over to douse it in cold water. Steam rises up with a hiss as she continues. “A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until he is of age or reunited with his own kind, you are as his father. This is the Way.””

The Child trills and Din can’t help but look at him this time. His eyes are bright as he parts his mouth in what Din has come to realize is his equivalent of a grin. He smiles softly in return, even as his insides squirm.

The Armorer turns to face him fully, her hands clasped in front of her. “You have earned your _aliik."_ [7]

Din blinks at her as she approaches with her welding torch, but doesn’t say anything as she powers it up and begins to attach the sigil she’d created to his right pauldron.

Sparks fly and his heart races. He never really thought he’d be part of a clan of his own, much less the head of one.

“You are a clan of two.”

Din gazes down at this new sigil, joy and dread warring within him. How could she name them a clan of two but then still expect him to give the Child up? He swallows hard and looks back up at his alor.

“Thank you,” he says, voice cracking ever so slightly with the force of his emotions. “I will wear this with honor.”

A sudden explosion from further up the tunnels startles the group, causing them all to draw their blasters instinctively.

“We should definitely go,” Karga states nervously.

The Armorer appears undisturbed by the sound of armored boots quickly making their way down the echoing tunnels. “IG,” she says, turning to the droid, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

IG-11 swivels his head in his approximation of a nod before turning to Cara.

As the droid removes the bag hanging from his frame, Cara raises her hands. “Hang on!” she protests. “I don’t do the baby thing!” She doesn’t get a chance to finish her statement before the droid is pushing the bag into her arms. She takes it automatically and the Child reaches up to her face, gurgling happily at her. Cara tries to suppress a smile but does a poor job of it.

The Armorer’s next words pull Din's attention from the two of them. “I have one more gift for your journey. Have you trained in the use of _sen'trase?"_ [8]

Din’s eyes go wide. “When I was a boy, yes.”

“Then this,” she says, a smile in her voice as she turns back to him with a jetpack in her hands, “will make you complete.”

“Thank you,” he says in slight reverence, but before he can take it from her, blaster fire erupts from the tunnels.

The small group waits in tense silence for a moment until IG-11 steps forward and into their line of sight. “You are protected.”

“More will come. You must go.”

Din pauses for just a second before he decides he has to try once again to convince her to come with them. “ _Alor_ Matori, please. Come with us,” he intones, taking a risk and using her given name.

She shakes her head. “My place is here. Restock your munitions.” She gestures towards the weapons and ammunition resting on one of the work tables and Din reluctantly turns away from her.

He may not have been as close to the members of the covert as he perhaps should have been, but the thought of leaving his _alor_ behind makes his chest feel tight with unease. As he moves over to the tables and restocks his chargers and ammo, the Armorer faces the droid.

“IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

With little ceremony, she passes the jetpack to the droid, who simply swivels his head in assent and slips out of the room once more.

She turns to the rest of the group, chin raised. “Now, go! Down to the river and across the plains.”

Cara and Karga both give her a respectful nod as they file out of the forgery, removing their blasters from their holsters as they go.

Din lingers behind for a moment, reluctant. He knows the Armorer is more than capable of defending herself, that leaving her behind is not necessarily a death sentence. Still, it feels wrong to leave her.

He pauses in front of her and she says, simply, "Be safe on your journey.”

Din closes his eyes and gives a small nod. "Thank you." He feels like he should do or say something else but doesn't know what. So he nods again and slips out of the forge, striding quickly to catch up with the others.

As they make their way down the tunnel, they hear a distant echo of gunfire and clanging metal. Din figures the Imps have made it to the forge and he fights down the impulse to go back to help his _alor_.

Instead, he picks up his pace, ignoring his throbbing hip. "Come on. There's no guarantee she'll fight them all off."

"Shouldn't we go back-" Cara starts, but Din is already shaking his head.

"No point; it'd take us too long to backtrack. She either has it under control or she doesn't."

No one says anything as they continue on their way and eventually the sounds of the fight behind them fade to nothing.

Din is just starting to wonder how far the tunnel actually goes when they round a corner and come face to face with a group of Mandalorians.

Din immediately stops and raises one hand up to shoulder height, the other thrown out to the side to halt the others. The Mandalorians quickly turn on their heels and raise their weapons, the one closest to them leveling their heavy blaster right at Din's unprotected neck.

" _Ke'mot!"_ [9]

" _Ke'pare! Udesii!"_ [10]

The lighting is dim and Din hopes to _manda_ [11] that his _vod'e_ [12] aren't in a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kind of mood and that Karga, Cara, and IG have their weapons down.

He lets out a breath when the Mandalorian in front straightens up and lowers their blaster ever so slightly.

" _Tion'cuy?"_ [13] they question, modulated voice colored with suspicion and curiosity. Din recognizes their voice this time and feels relief flood his system so fast that his knees go weak.

Of all the Mandalorians in the Covert they could have run into, they are fortunate that it happens to be the one individual who can call Din a friend.

"Habit!" He says, dropping his hands. When he does, he hears the others behind him slowly stow their weapons. " _Ibic Din!"_ [14]

"Din! _Su cuy'gar!"_ [15] Habit exclaims, surprised. They fully lower their blaster, as do a few of the other Mandalorians behind them. "You're here! And alive."

"Barely…" Cara mutters, just loud enough for Habit's helmet to pick up.

"Who are they?" The large Mandalorian says, jerking their head in Cara's and Karga's direction. " _Tion val gaies?"_ [16]

Din makes a calming gesture with his hands. " _Tomade. Burc'ye."_ [17] He nods in the direction of each of his companions as he introduces them. "This is Cara Dune, Greef Karga, IG-11, and…" he pauses a moment, remembering the Armorer's words. He is a father and the Child is his son. He’s not sure how he feels about this yet, hasn’t really had a chance to process what it means. He’s never wanted a kid of his own, but he has one now.

His own foundling.

Swallowing, he continues, "And my _ad."_ [18]

The Child in question peers over the side of the bag still awkwardly held by Cara, his ears perked up in interest. He lets out a small coo and something warm and complicated fills

Din's chest and for just a second he forgets how to breathe.

That moment of warmth quickly devolves into anxiety as the Mandalorians in front of him begin peppering him with questions.

" _Me'ven?_ [19] Din with a son? Thought we'd never see the day."

"Is that the foundling we lost everything for?"

"Wait, isn't Karga the name of the Guild Master here? The one who sicced his _besomal beroye_ [20] on you?"

"What are you even doing here?"

He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He notices he’s clenched his hands into fists at some point but he has no idea when and they won’t stop shaking.

A soft coo breaks through the clamor and he’s able to release his breath.

“ _Gev!_ [21] I can’t answer all of you at once!” When everyone falls quiet, he continues, turning to face the Mandalorian who had asked after Karga; he’s pretty sure she’s called Kes.

" _Aru'ner aru'e nerb burc'ya._ [22] We can trust him. _Ori'shya nu."_ [23] He ignores the questions about the Child, finding them irrelevant to their immediate concerns. He does, however, keep an eye on the boy, Tobias, who asked about the foundling, noting the tight grip he still has on his blaster. Shifting back to talk to Habit again he says, " _Alor_ directed us down."

"Where is she? Is she coming?" Kes asks, looking around Din and his companions as though she expects their alor to be coming down the tunnels behind them.

Cara cuts in, giving Din a chance to breathe. "She insisted she stay behind," she says, hand on her hip. She absently tilts her head to the side to avoid the Child's questing hands. "Last we know, she was fighting Troopers."

" _Osik!"_ [24] Habit says, turning to face the group of Mandalorians. "A few of us should go back through the tunnels and help keep watch for the alor. Make sure she can finish her job."

" _Bal'ban, elek!_ [25] We'll go now. Tobias, Zenk, Rynn," Kes calls, "Come with me." She waves the other three forward and Din, Cara, Karga, and IG-11 shift to the side of the tunnel to make room for their bulky forms.

Din watches their progress before turning back to Habit and the three others that remained behind. "What are you all in the tunnels for?"

The big Mandalorian sighs and leans up against the wall. "Resting. Most of us are along the river's edge keeping watch while we wait for the Armorer to finish her duties.”

Din steps forward imploringly, close enough that he can now make out the white, teal, and brown of their armor, “We need to get out of here and across the lava fields to my ship. Matori said we'd find an exit down here.”

Habit hums thoughtfully, the sound reverberating fuzzily through their helmet’s vocoder. With a nod, they stand up straight again and jerk their head, indicating Din and the others follow as they begin moving down the tunnel. “I think we can help you out with that.” When they turn a corner and the eerie yellow-red glow of the lava illuminates the tunnel exit, they continue, “I’m sure there are a few here who would gladly escort you across the plains.”

\---

As they file out, Din’s visor automatically adjusts to compensate for the increase in lighting. He scans the small crowd on the river’s edge, looking for any familiar armor.

There are distressingly few of them here. There’s Verlik, with his bright orange helmet standing out in the dim light of the wide cavern. Dura paces nearby, spinning her _bes'bev_ [26] between her hands. He recognizes a few others, though not by name, and he ignores the foreboding that sits heavy in the pit of his stomach when he can’t find a certain blue helmeted Mandalorian standing a head taller than nearly everyone else.

Habit stops with their hands on their hips. “ _Ke'sush!"_ [27] they shout, and a dozen or so helmets swivel to face them. “Anyone itching for something to do?” Din is mildly amused when a few Mandalorians sit or stand up a little straighter at the thought of being given any sort of task. “This group here needs _ver'gebuire_ [28] to get them safely back to their ship.”

A number of the Mandalorians push forward as Habit begins to provide a sit-rep. Din watches for a moment, only looking away when Cara and Karga sidle up next to him.

“You know, the entire time we were working together, I was sure you were the only Mandalorian in Nevarro,” Karga says. Din glances over at the older man to see him grinning ruefully and shaking his head. “Should have known better. All a bunch of sneaky bastards.”

Din rolls his eyes and shifts slightly, trying to ease some of the aches creeping into his body.

“Hey. You still doing okay?” Cara asks.

She's too perceptive by half and Din makes a conscious effort to not shift again in discomfort.

“I’m fine.”

She narrows her eyes at him before thrusting the bag holding the Child into his arms. “Good. In that case, you can take your kid.”

The Child chirps happily, ears twitching. Din smiles softly and runs a gentle finger along one of those long ears. He’s so caught up in the trusting eyes of his _ad'ika_ [29] that he almost misses Habit’s next words.

“Alright, let’s get moving! Verlik, Danti, Jo, you’re with me and Din’s crew. The rest of you, stay here.”

There are a few grumbles from the restless group, but they’re drowned out by the majority calling out a heartfelt, “ _K'oyacyi!"_ [30]

Habit gestures to Din. “Come on, we’ll be taking that boat.” They nod towards the river’s edge and he can just make out the dark shape of small craft against the churning lava.

They pile in, Din, IG-11, and Habit towards the front, Cara and Karga in the middle with Jo, and Danti and Verlik taking up the rear. Verlik pulls a barge pole from a derelict droid’s grip and shoves it into the lava to direct it out into the center of the churning fluid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  \-------------------  
> 1] Aruetiise : outsiders [return]  
> \--  
> 2] Mand’tal : life-blood, essence. refers to the molten metal that makes up their armor, whether its made of beskar or durasteel.  
> from the word Manda, the state of being mandalorian, and tal, blood. [return]  
> \--  
> 3] Alor : leader [return]  
> \--  
> 4] Jetii : jedi [return]  
> \--  
> 5] Adiike : children, ages 3-13 [return]  
> \--  
> 6] Nu draar : not never; no way [return]  
> \--  
> 7] Aliik : sigil; signet [return]  
> \--  
> [8] Sen’trase : jetpacks [return]  
> \--  
> 9] Ke’mot : halt [return]  
> \--  
> 10] Ke’pare! Udesii!” : Wait! Calm down! [return]  
> \--  
> 11] Manda : collective soul or heaven [return]  
> \--  
> 12] Vod’e : brothers; sisters; siblings [return]  
> \--  
> 13] Tion’cuy : who’s that?s [return]  
> \--  
> 14] Ibic Din! : It’s Din! [return]  
> \--  
> 15] Su cuy’gar : hello! Lit: you’re still alive! [return]  
> \--  
> 16] Tion val gaies : what are their names? [return]  
> \--  
> 17] Tomade. Burc’ya : allies. friends [return]  
> \--  
> 18] Ad : son; child [return]  
> \--  
> 19] Me’ven : Huh? -- expression of disbelief [return]  
> \--  
> 20] Besomal beroye: ill mannered bounty hunters [return]  
> \--  
> 21] Gev! : stop it! [return]  
> \--  
> 22] Aru'ner aru'e nerb burc'ya : enemy’s enemy is my friend [return]  
> \--  
> 23] Ori’shya nu : more than not [return]  
> \--  
> 24] Osik : shit [return]  
> \--  
> 25] Bal’ban, elek! : definitely, yes!  [return]  
> \--  
> 26] Bes’bev : Mandalorian wind instrument also used for combat: a large metal flute with a sharpened, cut-off end [return]  
> \--  
> 27] Ke’sush! : attention! [return]  
> \--  
> 28] Ver’gebuire : bodyguards [return]  
> \--  
> 29] Ad’ika : little one, son, daughter, of any age [return]  
> \--  
> 30] K'oyacyi! : Come back safely. Literally, a command; Stay alive! [return]
> 
> ..


	3. Kyrbej: (n) Battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes out to Kata, Red, Lia, Izzy, and EG for all the encouragement with this, as always. 
> 
> I also want to give a huge shoutout to Itsa for her fic _You're Not In This Alone_ , as this one is heavily inspired by it in places. I'd also like to thank EffieAgo for their fic _Legacies_ and it's sequential series, as it its another source of inspiration. Both fics are now linked at the beginning of this fic. 
> 
> This is the last chapter that deals with canon events, so it's off-roading from here, guys!
> 
> **NOTE: please heed the updated tags! There's a moment where Din has some dark thoughts, but there is no intent behind them.**
> 
>   
> _Disclaimer: Chapter 3 of this fic uses dialogue from episode 8 of The Mandalorian. This dialogue was taken from wikitranscripts and no copyright infringement is intended -- I have written this entirely for my own pleasure and seek no profit from it._

**9 ABY, Summer**  
\-------------------------

The journey is slow going and Din is starting to get restless. It’s beginning to feel like they would never see sunlight again.

The Child babbles up at him tiredly from his place in the bag at his chest.

“I know, kid, I’m ready to get out of this hell-hole, too.”

For a while there’s nothing but the sound of the bubbling molten rock churning around them and the creaks and scuffs of shifting armor.

“That's it. We're free!” Karga's voice is heavy with relief as it cuts through the relative silence.

Din looks up and sure enough, the tunnel’s exit shines brightly ahead of them. He quickly toggles the controls for his visor, something in his gut telling him it can’t be this easy to make their escape. He sighs when he is able to make out the forms of many, _many_ Stormtroopers just beyond the entrance. 

“No. No, we're not. Stormtroopers.” He reverts his HUD back to its standard settings and shakes his head. “They're flanking the mouth of the tunnel; it looks like an entire platoon. They must know we're coming.”

“There's gotta be a way around them,” Cara says, moving closer to stand next to him. 

Confirming Din’s information with their own HUD, Habit shakes their head, “I’m not sure there is…”

Cara shrugs. “Looks like we fight, then.”

“Speak for yourself!” Karga says indignantly.

IG-11 speaks quietly for the first time in a long while. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy, and you will escape.”

Din shakes his head, looking back at the droid. “No, out of the question.”

 **“** I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

 **“** What are you talking about?”

IG-11 passes the jetpack to a flummoxed Cara, his sensors trained on Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child”

Din turns around, staring at the droid. Something is twisting up through him, something aching and familiar. The feeling of impending loss. “Wait,” he says, mind racing for a way to prevent the seemingly inevitable. “You can't self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the Child. That supersedes your manufacturer's protocol, right?” _Right?_ He’s distantly aware of the others watching them.

“This is correct,” the droid acknowledges.

Din swallows roughly, hesitantly relieved. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

IG-11 swivels his head in an approximation of a head shake. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved in which I survive.”

“Uhh, guys?”

No, no. _Nayc_ [1]. Din refuses to let this happen. “Listen, you're not going anywhere. We need you. Let's just come with a--”

“Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

“Guys.”

“No. We _need_ you.” _I need you._

IG-11 is a droid. Something Din never expected to care about. But he had saved the Child. Kuill. Din himself. All of them. Somehow, despite every droid-hating muscle in his body, this particular droid had maneuvered his way into Din’s slowly growing _aliit_ [2]. 

He is not going to lose him. He can’t.

"There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

"I'm not sad,” Din protests, voice cracking damnably.

"Yes, you are. I'm a nurse droid. I've--”

“Guys!” Habit yells, and Din turns to see them standing with their hands on their hips, Cara next to them with an eyebrow raised. “There….might actually be a way…”

Din blinks at them and the IG’s servers whir and click. 

Cara grins viciously. “Who wants to go shoot some Trooper ass?”

The three other Mandalorians give a loud _whoop_ of assent and Din looks between them all.

Habit gives him an exasperated head tilt. “We’ve got _sen'trase_ [3] and plenty of blasters. We’ll go out first, guns blazing, and take them out. _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur!_ [4]You will stay on the boat with the foundling, _ret'lini_ [5], and your droid won’t have to sacrifice himself. _”_

“This is an acceptable alternative,” says IG-11.

Habit huffs a laugh, “Glad you think so, IG.” They turn to the handful of Mandalorians in the boat. “Gear up! Let’s go get these _shabuire_ [6]

As the others begin checking their ammunition and adjusting their jetpacks, Din briefly touches Habit’s pauldron. “ _Vor entye_ [7]”

Habit slaps his bicep and Din can hear the amusement in their voice when they say, “No, _vod,_ [8] thank _you_. You’ve given us something to do.” Their voice turns more serious. “Something violent. It’ll help some of them begin to heal if they can take out a few _shabla di'kute."_ [9]

“This is the Way,” Din murmurs.

“This is the Way.”

They both look over at the grimly excited warriors adjusting each other’s armor and gear. “Besides,” Habit continues, once again sounding amused, “Your kid’s _copikla!_ [10] How could we put a face like that in danger?” 

They bop the Child on the nose with their gloved finger and the kid giggles and coos. He reaches up to grab at Habit, brown eyes huge and earnest. If Din didn’t know any better, he’d say the Child was conveying his own gratitude right then.

Habit clears their throat. “Anyway, I need to comm the others down at the tunnel entrance. See if any of them want to join the hunt.” With that, they gently pull their finger from the Child’s grasp and tap on their vambrace.

“Parov, listen, we’ve run into a situation....”

It's Cara's turn to sidle up to Din. "Disappointed you won't be joining them?" she asks, eyes on the kid as she passes Din his jetpack.

Din shrugs and follows her gaze, taking the jetpack without comment and attaching it to his backplate. "Not this time, no." They both look over as the four Mandalorians on the boat engage their own jetpacks and hover up a few feet into the air. "Perhaps if I had more recent training…."

"Din," Habit interrupts over the roar of the jetpacks, "I'll comm you if we have any problems."

He nods as Cara asks, "And if you do, then what?"

"That's for you to figure out," Habit chirps cheerfully. They swing around to face the others, "Alright, let's head out. We should have backup just seconds behind us." 

Without another word, the small squad flies forward towards the entrance and Din watches them steadily shrink with distance. Just as the sound of their thrusters begins to die, he hears the backup team coming in fast. The Child in his arms squeals and giggles as they soar past them, little hands clapping with glee. Karga grimaces at the commotion and the rocking of the boat caused by the wake of the five new additions.

Din continues watching them fly out until the sound of blaster fire begins to echo down the tunnel. He flinches and looks down at the Child again, focusing on the top of his small head and the way the fuzzy down catches the light from the lava surrounding them.

The sound of artillery fire. The smell of gunsmoke. The afterburn of the jetpacks. All of this mixed with the sulfuric scent of Nevarro sends Din’s mind tumbling back to the last time he was on this planet. The last time his small covert was whole. He had thought he was done with the excessive amounts of guilt he had felt today, but he was wrong. With the rapid succession of shots being fired, he can feel his chest tighten in guilt and anxiety.

He recalls the fear and desperation he had felt then, the Child tucked up in a bundle of blankets and held close against his chest. He had no idea how he was going to get them out alive, but he knew he had to try. He had already let the Child down once on this hellish planet and he knew he’d rather die than let him down a second time. 

The utter trust in the Child’s eyes while he covered him with his body in the back of the cart had shaken him. 

The soft cooing warble had shattered him.

And then to his utter shock the Covert, _his tribe_ , had swooped out of the sky, jetpacks glaringly bright and weapons blazing. The incredulous relief he had felt then was enough to leave him breathless and still for a few foolish seconds until he sat up and began firing with the last weapon he had on him. 

When Paz had landed next to him, his heavy blaster raining fire onto the bounty hunters, Din had been flooded with a warm, humble gratitude. Because despite their recent fight and their regular arguments during his brief moments at the covert, Paz had his back. Had stopped to assure him that he and the other Mandalorians would fight beside him. 

He takes in a shuddering breath as the gunfire dies out and opens his eyes; he hadn’t realized he had closed them. The Child is gazing at him with his deep, unfounded trust and Din draws him closer to his chest. He wonders where Paz is now -- whether he was somewhere else in the tunnels, if he had gotten off planet, if he was -- He takes a few more deep breaths, trying to push the guilt aside. It’s not helpful and he can’t dwell on it. 

This is the Way.

His comlink crackles and Habit’s out of breath voice comes over the connection. “We got ‘em all. Every last Imp. We’re currently cleaning up the mess out here, but the coast looks clear right now.”

“Copy. We’re probably five minutes from the tunnel opening.”

Time seems to crawl as the boat makes its sluggish way down the lava river, but eventually they pass through the arched opening and into the hazy early evening light. Cara and Karga both squint a little at the change in lighting, while Din’s HUD automatically adjusts to compensate. They quickly scramble out of the boat, Karga mock bowing at Cara and indicating she get off first. She rolls her eyes and Din shakes his head at the Guild leader’s typical theatrics.

Din adjusts the straps of the Child’s bag as he gazes around the banks of the river. A few of the Mandalorians are rummaging around the still bodies of the Stormtroopers and removing their ammo, weapons, and anything else that might prove valuable. Once everything useful has been removed, the bodies are unceremoniously dumped into the lava.

Others are helping tend to the few wounds sustained by some of the warriors.

Din barely has a chance to scan the small group and find a seemingly fine Habit amongst them when a distinct _whirring_ noise breaks out.

A Tie-Fighter shoots overhead, spinning in the air to face them.

“Moff Gideon!” Cara yells, swinging her blaster up to shoot ineffectively at the craft as it fires back on them. 

**“** He missed!” Karga says, relief in his voice.

Din shakes his head. “He won't next time.”

“Our blasters are useless against him.” Cara rubs her temple, watching for the Tie-Fighter to come back. “Fuck.”

“No shit, _meshla!"_ [11] Habit yells back sarcastically. 

Din shoots them a glance. “ _Tion'jii?"_ [12] They shrug in response, and Din _knows_ they have a shit-eating grin on their face. Habit’s _always_ been a flirt. 

Karga looks between Din and the sky, eyes wide with trepidation. “Hey, let's make the baby do the magic hand thing.” The kid in question pokes his head over the rim of the bag still on Din’s chest. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing.” Karga waggles his fingers at the Child, who chirps back tiredly and waves back. Karga’s shoulders slump. “I'm out of ideas,” he huffs.

Din’s mind races, going through his available weapons, those of his companions and the covert members. His flamethrower is out, the blasters are ineffective, he’s still got a few charges and his grappling hook--

“I'm not,” he says grimly. He pulls the bag holding his foundling off his shoulders and chest, passing it once more to Cara, who takes it without protest this time, eyes still on the sky.

“Din...what are you planning?” Habit asks.

Before he can say anything, Cara yells, “Here he comes!”

As the Tie-fighter swings around to directly bear down on them, Din primes his grappling hook.

" _Osi'kyr_ [13] Are you kidding me? Don’t--!” Habit shouts, catching the motion.

He ignites the jetpack and launches straight up. When he’s above Gideon, he has a split second to aim his grappling hook.

He fires.

The next few moments are an agonizing eternity, his body screaming in pain. His shoulder feels like fire, his ribs protesting as they are put under yet more strain. At one point, Gideon makes a sharp turn and Din nearly blacks out from the intensity of the G-force. The pain is so consuming that he can’t even begin to pinpoint where it originates from; he _is_ pain.

Despite the pain of being flung around like a ragdoll, the world spinning until he can no longer tell what is up and what is down, and then fumbling his charges, Din is able to get one placed on the Tie-fighter. Watching the flashing red of the charge as it counts down to detonation, Din feels a grim satisfaction; no matter what happens next, at least he was able to take this fucker out.

He lets go of his already tenuous hold of the ship and the force of the air sends him tumbling into empty space. He free-falls for a moment, head over heels, his terror building as the ground rushes up to meet him alarmingly fast. Somehow, he’s able to orient himself so he’s plummeting feet first. As soon as he does, he activates his jetpack to slow his descent. 

He hits the ground too fast. His lower back flairs in utter agony, pain shooting down his nerves and into his knee, causing it to buckle. He catches himself with his hands to keep himself from face-planting in the dirt, only for his vision to white out for a moment. He pants through the pain and eventually becomes aware of his senses again. 

Despite his best efforts, he finds that he ended up face first on the ground after all. He groans and tries to push himself up, only to bite off a scream. His arm is nothing but bitter agony and he’s aware of little else until he lays back down on the ground, panting once more. He fumbles behind himself for the jetpack with his good arm and lets out a grunt when he’s finally able to hit the magnetic release button. He tugs the blasted thing off his back before rolling over to stare up at the sky.

“ _Mando!”_

He lets out a long sigh and looks over to see Cara and Karga sprinting over from the mouth of the river where the group of Mandalorians are still standing. 

He sits up very carefully, grateful for his helmet as sweat drips down his temple. He grimaces. His arm feels tingly and numb, the occasional zap of something like electricity running down his nerves; his shoulder is nothing but fire and a deep set ache that sets his teeth on edge. His hip throbs steadily from whatever he had done to it earlier that day, but the pain is minor in comparison to everything else.

“Are you alright?” Cara says, worry in her voice for the second time that day.

 _Does it look like I’m _osik'layc_ [14] alright?_ He wants to yell, but decades of training and caution keep him from doing so. Instead, he simply nods and lets out another grunt.

“‘m fine,” he says. “Wasn’t expecting to come down so hard. I’m a bit out of practice.”

Cara shakes her head, clearly skeptical, but she doesn’t press the issue.

Out of breath, Karga comes to stand next to Cara, hands on his hips. “That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive.” He grins and holds his hand out. “Would you like some help up?”

Din stares in apprehension at Karga’s offered hand, wondering if he’d have better luck standing up on his own. He sighs, his ribs protesting the expansion of his chest, and clasps his hand to Karga’s. He braces himself as Karga pulls him upright, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming; the pain in his back intensifies for a moment and Din’s sure he’s going to pass out before it fades out to an aching background noise.

Karga slaps a hand to his shoulder -- thankfully it’s his good one -- and says, “It looks like your Guild rates have just gone up.”

Din grunts, trying not to jostle his right arm or back. “Any more Stormtroopers?”

“I think we cleaned up the town,” Cara says, carefully lowering the bag still holding the Child to the ground. “I’m thinking of staying around just to be sure.”

Din blinks, slightly disappointed. “You’re staying here?”

“Well, why not?” Karga interrupts. “Nevarro is a very fine planet! And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away from the city, this area is very respectable again.”

Din raises an eyebrow. “As a bounty hunter hive?” he asks, deadpan.

“Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters!” Karga proclaims, Din’s tone going right over his head. “And perhaps this specimen of soldier might consider joining our ranks.” He jerks his head towards Cara, who rolls her eyes.

“Yeah....I don’t think so. I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code. I’ll help make sure the city is clear of occupation, but I don’t think I’ll stick around much longer than that.”

The sound of a small coo draws Din’s attention to the ground, causing him to miss Karga’s response. The Child waddles the remaining distance between them before grabbing onto his leg and looking up at him with a warble. Very carefully, Din bends down to awkwardly pick the kid up with his good arm. He breathes through his mouth, trying to focus on the Child and not on the agony radiating from his lower back and down through his legs. He is eventually able to tune back into Karga's incessant chatter.

“--you, my friend, you will be welcome back into the Guild with open arms! So, go off, enjoy yourself. And when you're ready to return, you will have the pick of all quarries.”

Din shakes his head, looking at the Child in his arms. “I’m afraid I have more pressing matters at hand.” The kid pats at his chest, his big eyes full of concern.

“Hey!” 

The small group looks over to see Habit making their way to them and Din suppresses the urge to take a step back when he notices their determined stride. 

“ _Jare'la di'kut!_ [15] Were you _kebbur at jareor?_ [16]” 

Cara and Karga quickly move aside and Habit comes to a halt in front of Din, hands clenched into fists at their sides. They stare at each other for a moment, Din bristling at their words and trying not to let his body tremble from fatigue and pain.

 _"Me'vaar ti gar? Tion gar irud?"_ [17]

Din shakes his head. __"Naas."_ [18]_

“Uh-huh.” They tilt their head disdainfully, but take a step back and Din releases his breath. “That was utterly foolish, Din!”

“I know!” Din snaps, “I wasn’t thinking!”

“Obviously! It’s like you _wanted_ to be taken out.” 

Din nearly takes a step forward, ready to get up in Habit’s face, but he stops. When he searches himself, he knows that they aren't necessarily wrong. The loss of the lives of his people as a result of more of his own actions weighs heavily on him. Maybe a part of him _had_ just wanted it to end. 

A small hum from the Child brings him out of his ruminations and he looks down at the small being. Bitter shame and guilt begin to fester in his chest as their eyes meet. He has an _ad_ of his own now -- has for weeks if he continues to be honest with himself. The care and safety of this child is more important than his own pain and regrets. His reckless behavior today was foolhardy at best and cowardly at worst. Putting an end to his own pain while someone relied upon him the way the kid does is the selfish, easy way out and it’s unsettling to him to realize the impulse was an unconscious one.

“Din,” Habit says, their voice much softer, but still enough to draw him gently from his spiraling thoughts. “I know you’ve always thought you had something to prove to the rest of us, but you _don’t_. You can’t keep being so brash _bal jare'la."_ [19] They reach up and gently run a finger over the Child’s head. “You have someone to live for, now.”

Their words are an echo of his own thoughts and Din swallows, nodding sharply. Habit had a tendency of being incredibly astute and had always seen through Din’s deflections and bullshit; they were one of the few people in his life who had cared enough to even make the effort to do so. He tries to ignore the prickling knowledge that Cara and Karga had both just been witnesses to this unguarded conversation; he’s sure it’s been decades since he last felt so vulnerable. 

He clears his throat. “I, uh, need to get going. A friend of ours is back on the Razor Crest and I need to check to make sure he’s alright.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Habit says, tone lighter but still laced with worry. “Take care of yourself, and don’t be a stranger. I suspect we should be heading out soon so...contact me if you need anything. I don’t know where the covert will be going, but I suspect we’ll keep our same comm frequencies.” They pause and Din knows they’re narrowing their eyes at him. “You better use mine.”

He inclines his head in assent, an odd feeling in his chest at the notion that someone other than Karga or Cara might want to stay in contact with him for something other than business.

They surprise him by stepping forward and giving him a quick but gentle _kov'nyn._ [20]

“See ya around,” they say as they step back, including the other two in their gesture of farewell before turning and jogging back to the other Mandalorians.

“Well then,” Cara says, eyebrow raised. “What was that about?”

Din stares at her in response, unwilling to indulge that line of questioning.

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes as she steps forward, "Don't share with the class." She reaches out and softly rubs the Child’s ear. “Take care of this little one,” she continues, voice hushed.

She steps back and Karga takes her place, shooting Din an assessing look; Din controls the urge to sigh, not needing another overly astute friend in his life. 

“Maybe,” Karga says, touching the Child’s ear with a hand more gentle than Din would have previously thought him capable of, “Maybe he’ll take care of you.”

Din looks consideringly at the Child, who looks up at him. The kid blinks his big brown eyes and chirps.

Maybe he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1] Nayc : No [return]  
> \--  
> 2] Aliit : family [return]  
> \--  
> 3] Sen’trase : jetpacks [return]  
> \--  
> 4] Ib’turr jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur : today is a good day for someone else to die [return]  
> \--  
> 5] Ret’lini : Just in case [return]  
> \--  
> 6] Shabuire : jerks, except much stronger [return]  
> \--  
> 7] Vor entye : thank you; lit: i accept a debt [return]  
> \--  
> 8] Vod : brother [return]  
> \--  
> 9] Shabala di’kute : fucking wasts of space [return]  
> \--  
> 10] Copikla : cute [return]  
> \--  
> 11] Mesh’la : beautiful [return]  
> \--  
> 12] Tion’jin : now? [return]  
> \--  
> 13] Osi’kyr: fuck [return]  
> \--  
> 14] Osik’layc: fucking [return]  
> \--  
> 15] Jare’la di’kut : stupidly oblivious moron [return]  
> \--  
> 16] Kebbur at jareor : trying to rise your life/act suicidally? [return]  
> \--  
> 17] Me’vaar ti gar? Tion gar irud?: how are you? Your arm? [return]  
> \--  
> 18] Naas: I’m fine; lit: nothing.  [return]  
> \--  
> 19] bal jare’la: and stupidly reckless [return]  
> \--  
> 20] Kov’nyn: headbutt/keldabe kiss [return]  
> 


	4. Interlude: Rex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Be my friend, hold me  
>  Wrap me up, enfold me  
> I am small and needy  
> Warm me up and breathe me_  
>    
> _Ouch I have lost myself again  
>  Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found  
> Yeah I think that I might break  
> Lost myself again and I feel unsafe_
> 
> ~Breathe Me, by Sia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the last few weeks, I've been hit with a massive load of Feels and Inspiration. Because of that, the plan for this fic has undergone many adjustments, all of them very much for the better. I am SO excited to be able to share this with you all. Please buckle up and keep your feels inside the vehicle at all times. This is going to be one bumpy ride!
> 
> **NOTE: This chapter gets very angsty, very fast. Please read the updated tags. Specifically: post order 66, dealing with trauma, ptsd, nightmares, and dissociation. I do not use them lightly.**
> 
> Significant spoilers for Seasons 6 and 7 of Clone Wars.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Kata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DifferentFrequency) for helping me fine-tune the outline and doing such an amazing beta read. Many more thanks goes out to [Lia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleluna0304) for her help workingshopping this chapter and her heartfelt encouragement. You guys are such an amazing help and have no idea how much I appreciate it. 
> 
> [Suggested listening while reading this chapter.](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Bo0hh0yoQReC4reJav5DT?si=QRh1DX2lQMWCDxVhBh9sKA)

**19 BBY, Summer**  
\-----------------------

Rex rolls his head first one way, and then the other, trying to loosen up the persistent knot that has built up in his neck. In spite of the stretch, his muscles do no more than twinge and pull tighter, and he huffs out a breath of frustration. Tilting his head against the seat back, he watches the swirling forms of clouds that make up the visible surface of the gaseous giant planet they were sheltering near. With the top of the ship tilted towards the planet and the belly facing one of its many small, rocky moons, they were hidden within the planet's magnetic field. They won't be able to stay long, but for now they are safe from any prying sensors.

Closing his eyes, Rex holds back a sigh. He's exhausted down to his core, but he can't bring himself to sleep for longer than an hour or two at a time. Not since before their last mission to Mandalore and the disastrous return trip to Coruscant; he's thrown into nightmares every time he tries.

Nightmares where he's shooting at his own brothers again, except this time his blaster isn't set to stun. Nightmares where his brothers are giving chase and they're unable to get off the doomed ship. Nightmares where his aim is a little too true and he kills--

"Don't you ever sleep?" Ahsoka asks through a yawn as she clambers through the small cabin of the ship to stand behind his chair. He barely refrains from twitching away from her before she's talking again. "I told you to wake me up after a few hours so you could get some rest! I swear, if I didn't know you any better I'd actually think you weren't getting any with the way you're always up when--" She cuts herself off and he can _feel_ her intense gaze. Knowing he must look like shit, he doesn't turn to face her. He can imagine the considering expression on her face. "You _are_ actually sleeping though, right Rex?"

"Some." It's not _technically_ a lie. Just like she _technically_ wasn't his commanding officer anymore. Both were more complicated than a simple truth or lie.

Ahsoka maneuvers herself around the side of the pilot's chair so that she can better see his face. Rex just sighs wearily and refuses to meet her eyes.

"Damn it, Rex!" Ahsoka says when she gets a good look at the dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes. "You need to sleep!" 

_Is that an order, Commander?_ He barely keeps the biting words back, surprised at the level of anger and frustration rising in him; he can't tell if it's at her, himself, or the whole damn situation. His left shoulder and neck throb and ache, but he shoves that aside too. He'll attend to the blaster wound later; he probably just needs to reapply the bacta-patch.

"Besides," Ahsoka continues, "It's my turn to keep watch. So get going."

Rex turns to her then and whatever was on the tip of his tongue gets washed away by the wave of guilt that crashes over him at the sight of her worried expression. He sighs, his anger extinguished, too. It leaves him with no energy or motivation to push back.

Rubbing at the bridge of his nose, he gives a nod before pushing himself to his feet. They shuffle awkwardly, the ship really only designed for one. As Rex begins to make his way to the narrow sleeping quarters, Ahsoka calls back to him.

"Rex, just….try? Please?" Her voice sounds just as weary as he feels.

He looks at her over his shoulder. "Yes, ma'am." He hears her sigh, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he hunches down and enters the narrow belly of the ship.

It isn’t much, really. Perhaps twice his height in length, one and a half in width, and a ceiling barely tall enough to sit comfortable under. What little gear and supplies they managed to scrounge up at the crash site are packed at the tail end of the ship. Ideally, the body of the craft was to be used for transporting goods quickly from one location to another. In the event of an emergency or unexpected detour, there was room and supplies for a temporary shelter. 

It wasn’t intended for two people to live in for an extended period of time, but for now it’s all they have.

Rex’s lower back aches at the hunched over position required to move about the sleeping quarters. He lowers himself to the sleep pad and his knees creak with the movement. Foregoing a ratty pillow, he lays out on his side, one arm tucked under his head, and ignores the pain in his still healing shoulder. He’s gone so long without sleep that between one breath and the next, he’s slipping into oblivion.

\--

_He’s standing inside a familiar ray shield next to Anakin, his hands held out in a placating gesture to his brother -- one of his best friends -- on the other side._

_“Fives, we’re listening. We only want to help you!” He yells, desperate for Fives to listen to him, to just calm down._

_“How do I know you’re not tricking me?” Fives asks, eyes wild and desperate._

_Rex’s heart is breaking -- when had he lost Fives’ trust? But before he can do or say anything, all hell breaks loose at the warehouse entrance._

_“Stand down, soldier! Down on your knees!” a clone trooper yells. There are three, four, five troopers, all with their guns pointed towards Fives._

_“No! No! Stay back!” Fives’ voice is strained and frantic now. Everything slows to a crawl as he watches Fives reach for a blaster._

_“Fives no!”_

_The sound of blaster fire drowns out all else for a moment and Rex blinks rapidly. The bright glow of the shots temporarily blind him, and when he opens his eyes again, the other troopers and the warehouse are gone._

_Fives still stands in front of him, but barely. His knees are shaking and Rex can see where a blaster shot has entered through his chest and out his back. The clone trooper gasps before falling to the ground with a resounding thud._

_“Fives! Fives!” He calls. He wants to go to him but he can’t. He slams his hands on the barrier between them. Fives is dying and he can’t get to him because of this stupid ray shield! His hands drop to his sides and he looks to the ground, defeated._

_It's then Rex notices that Anakin has also been shot down. The commander’s body is prone on the floor and he’s staring up at the ceiling, eyes already glazed over._

_There’s nothing he can do. The Jedi is dead. Gone. He turns back to Fives._

_There’s nothing between them now. In fact, Rex realizes with mounting anguish, there was never a ray shield at all. Just his own cowardice keeping him from holding his brother while he takes his last breaths. He runs to Fives and falls to his knees at his side._

_Fives is breathing raggedly, his body trembling. His eyes are rolling, the pupils dilating and contracting rapidly, but he focuses on Rex when he leans over him._

_“Rex,” he gasps, “this is bigger than any of us. Than anything I could have imagined. I never meant…” His voice fades out as he weakly tries to reach up to Rex. Rex props him up and Fives leans in to speak into his ear, his words straining with his effort to get them out. “Because good soldiers follow orders… I only wanted to do my duty… but because of you, the mission….the nightmares...they'll never be over.” He sighs his last breath on the side of Rex’s cheek and then his head falls back and his body goes limp._

_Rex is shaking. This can’t be happening. Why does this alway happen? “Fives?” he asks. “No, Fives…” his breath is coming fast and tears are clouding his vision. “Come on, Fives, don’t go.” He leans his forehead against Fives’ chest. “Stay with me, stay with me, Fives, stay with me. Don’t go.” The last words crack as he lets out a sob._

_“He’s right, you know,” comes Anakin's voice from behind him. Rex whips his head around, hope blooming in his heart. Anakin isn’t dead! He hadn’t lost everyone, after all. But as he watches, his commander turns his head towards him while lying crumpled on the ground. With growing horror, he realizes that he_ is _still dead. He meets Anakin's lifeless eyes as the Jedi continues to speak. “This is all your fault. If you had just gone to someone directly instead of being a coward and simply filing a report, Fives wouldn’t have had to go. You would still have your brothers. Ahsoka wouldn’t have had to die.”_

_Rex shakes his head, desperately. “No. No, Ahsoka is still alive!”_

_“She's_ dead _,” Anakin says. His voice is soft at first but rises sharply until he’s nearly shouting, “She died because you killed her. You could have stopped this! You could have stopped it all before it even happened and yet you did_ nothing _.” His voice falls to a whisper heavy with disappointment. “You failed everyone, Rex.”_

_Anakin fades into the dark and as he does, Rex feels the weight of Fives dissipate in his arms. He looks down to see his brother dwindle away, leaving him with nothing to hold. His hands drop listlessly to his thighs and it’s just him, alone in the dark. With no one and nothing but his failures._

_\--_

Rex wakes with a silent gasp. Heart pounding and breath racing, he stares up at the low ceiling and fervently hopes he hasn’t made enough sound to bring Ahsoka running. Closing his eyes, he forces himself to take deep breaths to slow his pulse. When he moves to rub his hand over his head, he feels a tremor creep up his arm and into his fingers. He cracks one eye open and watches his hand tremble in the air. 

“Fuck,” He says, dropping his hand back to his chest.

Impossibly, he is even more exhausted now than he had been before; he didn’t think it was feasible for a man to feel this tired. He would cry at the weight of his exhaustion, but he doesn’t even have the energy for that right then. Instead, he sits up and slides over to the side of the ship, pressing his back hard against it. Tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, he wonders how much longer it would take for him to die of exhaustion.

The sounds of boots on metal and the rustle of fabric draws his attention. He turns his head in the direction they came from, blinking to refocus his eyes. He must have been staring at the ceiling longer than he had thought, because his eyes are dry as Tatooine sand and his neck aches something fierce, as do his hips and back. _How much time have I lost?_ He blinks again, finally able to clear his vision, and sees Ahsoka standing hunched over in the cabin’s tiny entrance. 

She’s staring at him and for a moment her eyes travel over his face and down to his hands -- which Rex now notices are picking at the sleeves of his under armor. There’s a deep sadness in her eyes, and he shifts uncomfortably at having it directed at him.

“Shit,” she says softly. Before he can ask her what’s wrong, she turns around and re-enters the cockpit.

Minutes drag by and Rex continues picking at his sleeve. A small part of him makes an idle note that they are going to have to find more supplies and new clothes--and sooner, rather than later. Eventually, Ahsoka comes back, her jaw set.

Rex blinks. He knows that look. That’s the look she gets when she is about to argue with Generals Skywalker and Kenobi. Or used to get, he supposes, his shoulder throbbing painfully.

“I’ve set up a proximity alarm,” Ahsoka says. Her voice carries an undercurrent of authority, causing Rex to subconsciously sit up straighter. “It’ll go off if another spacecraft gets within a few million klicks of us, which means we’re both going to sit down and eat. And then we are _both_ getting some sleep.”

“Is that an order, Commander?” 

The words slip out unprompted this time, but they are dull and flat rather than angry and challenging like they wanted to be before.

Her face twists briefly into an expression of confusion and hurt before she pushes it back, replacing it with her previous stubbornly clenched jaw. She raises one eyebrow and tilts her chin up slightly. “Does it have to be?”

He considers her question for a moment, surprised to be given an option. Part of him screams _No. No more orders._ His last official order had been to kill all Jedi, including the young woman before him. Another, quieter part of him cries out a soft _yes, please._ He doesn’t know what to do without orders. He was following orders right out of the damn growth tank, for Hell's sake. 

Rex shakes his head. “No.”

Ahsoka deflates, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Good. I’m sick of orders.” 

As she shuffles into the back and rummages around for the ration packs that they had managed to salvage, Rex feels an unexpected jolt of panic. Before he can process the reason for it, Ahsoka passes him one of the relatively tasteless but inoffensive protein bars. She then sits cross legged in front of him and begins to tear open the silver wrapper.

Rex stares at the bar in his hands, his heart pounding. He knows he needs to eat, but the act of tearing open the wrapper, taking a bite... _chewing_. It all seems like an impossible set of tasks.

_“Oh.”_

It’s a soft sound, more like a sigh than an actual word, but Rex looks up. Ahsoka is staring at him, her partially eaten ration bar half-way to her mouth. Her eyes are darting over his face, looking for something, and he resists the impulse to shift under her intense gaze.

“What is it, Tano?” he asks. He’s startled by the roughness in his voice and clears his throat. “Ahsoka?”

"It--it's nothing." She takes another bite of her ration, the movements mechanical and automatic. She looks worried and…. resigned? Rex can't make sense of the expressions playing across her face. After swallowing, she says, "You need to eat the ration bar." Not looking at him, she softly adds, "Please, Rex?" 

There's something about the way she says it that eases the panic in his chest. It's enough of a _request_ that he feels like he has options, but just enough of an order that he can relax at having _some_ sort of direction, even if it's just to eat.

Deciding he's too tired to care about _why_ her phrasing matters, he nods instead before opening up the ration bar and taking a bite. Normally, he wouldn’t think one way or another about the taste and texture of the bar; he’d just eat it and be done with it. Right then, however, it tastes and feels like ashes in his mouth and it takes him far too much effort to swallow it down.

Ahsoka waits for him to finish before taking his wrapper with hers and stuffing them in the mini trash compactor. Turning back to him, she surveys the small space.

“Well,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “things will certainly be a little tight with both of us sleeping at the same time, but I think we’ll be fine.” She lowers herself to the floor and thanks him when he quietly passes her the only pillow.

Once she’s settled down, Rex sighs and rubs the back of his neck before laying out beside her on his back with his arms crossed behind his head. Ahsoka has her back to him and her voice is slightly muffled when she mumbles a soft, “Sleep well, Rex,” over her shoulder.

“You, too,” he says in response as he closes his eyes.

\--

Rex is in the liminal space between waking and sleep, his mind cloudy with the tail-end of the nightmare he most wishes would leave him alone, when he gets the feeling something isn’t right. He drags his eyes open and yawns, trying to get his bearings. 

“No, please! Stop! I swear I didn’t do it! I--” 

He turns to Ahsoka at the sound of her voice. At some point while they slept, she had rolled over to face him and had pulled her legs up in somewhat of a fetal position. Now, her brow is creased in worry as she shakes her head in abortive motions in her sleep. 

Rex’s first instinct is to wake her up, to end whatever dream is causing her to call out in fear, but he doesn’t. He knows full well not to wake someone having a nightmare like this. Doing so usually only led to someone getting hurt.

He figures he should probably give her a little more space though, having seen fellow clones thrash in their sleep on occasion if they had a bad enough nightmare. Not wanting to wake her, he carefully begins to move away.

There’s no way of knowing who bumped into who, but one moment Rex is sitting up and getting ready to shuffle back towards the cabin’s entrance, and the next there’s a shout and he’s being slammed against the wall with no time to react. Ahsoka had immediately gone on the defensive and activated her lightsaber, which is now held to his throat.

Rex hardly dares breathe, let alone try to move away. The blue glow of her lightsaber is almost overwhelming and he can feel the heat radiating off the blade, hear its soft whirring hum. It’s entirely too close for comfort. When he gets a good look at Ahsoka, though, he realizes she isn’t even fully awake. She had drawn her lightsaber entirely on instinct.

“Ahsoka,” he says, needing her to wake up before she causes irreparable damage to either himself or the ship. “ _Ahsoka.”_

Ashoka blinks a few times and her face is close enough to his that he can see the moment she fully regains consciousness. She focuses on him for a second before her eyes go wide in horror. 

“Oh. Oh, _Maker._ Oh, _fuck.”_ She looks down at the glowing lightsaber in her hands and her face twists in agony. She quickly deactivates the saber before tossing it to the back of the ship amongst their gear. Her hands go to cover her mouth after she scrambles away from him, shaking her head. “Rex, I’m-- _Fuck_.” Her voice cracks as a broken sob escapes her. She pushes herself further away until she’s as far from him as physically possible, her legs drawn up to her chest.

Rex aches to comfort her somehow, but he has no idea how to go about doing it. Remembering his own dreams over the last few days, he feels a wave of nausea wash over him. Not knowing what else to do, he shuffles up against the wall at a long diagonal from her. 

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry.” Ahsoka presses her forehead into her knees, her shoulders shaking. “Rex, I can’t believe I--” She sits up and rubs her shaking hands over her face, and tries again, “I’m so sorry, Rex. I can’t believe I drew my _saber_ on you.”

He opens his mouth to tell her it’s fine, that he _gets it,_ but no words come. Because it’s not fine, is it? He remembers shooting at her, remembers the full intent to _kill._ He sent his brothers after her, had them destroy the escape pods. His drive to follow Darth Sidious’ order had doomed them _all--_

His breaths quicken, each one causing his chest to shudder. He pulls his own legs up to his chest, but instead of wrapping his arms around his knees like Ahsoka had done, he grips his ankles to try and ground himself.

The small ship is silent but for the sound of Ahsoka’s quiet, shaking sobs, and his own heartbeat in his ears. 

Eventually, her crying turns to wet sniffles and the side of her face is pressed into her forearms where they now rest on her knees. He watches her, waiting, knowing she’s working through how much she wants to say. 

“It wasn’t even about...you know,” she finally mumbles, eyes closed. “It’s...it’s so _stupid_ . I should be over it by now but…” she sighs, “I guess I’m not. I dreamed about being accused of bombing the Jedi temple again… of being hunted down.” A lone tear slides down her cheek, unchecked. “I was being chased down tunnels, like the ones on Mandalore, by clone troopers and turned to...to try and beg for them to stop. But they opened fire. They were wearing _my_ colors, Rex. It was the 332nd Division and--” She buries her face in her arms and Rex’s stomach feels like it’s turned to lead because he _knows_ what’s coming. “And you were at the head of the group,” she continues, so quiet that Rex can barely hear her over the pounding of his own heartbeat. “But it...it wasn’t you? He was wearing your helmet, your gear, but he carried Maul’s lightsaber. He raised it up, intending to finish me off by driving it into my chest and that’s…”

“That’s when I bumped into you.” _Or you bumped into me,_ he thinks. Not that it matters at this point. His voice is flat and emotionless and he knows that if he lets himself feel anything at all right now, he’ll break.

“Yeah.”

She’s crying again, and Rex is glad that he hadn’t gone over to comfort her. What right does he have?

“I don’t blame you for attacking me, Ahsoka,” he says after a few more minutes of silence. “Believe me, I know how nightmares work.”

Ahsoka sniffs, finally looking at him. “Yeah? You have them too?”

The scent of ash and dust drifts over Rex and he closes his eyes, trying to suppress a full body shudder. “All the time.” _We all did._ He clutches his jaw tight and grinds his teeth for a second, debating. He sighs.

“Sometimes I’m back on the ship as we’re trying to make it off safely, and...I don’t set my blaster to stun before firing at the others. Sometimes I’m back in the medical ward, but the droid isn’t able to remove my chip before I sit up and shoot you in the back. 

“Every dream ends with nearly everyone else dead because of me. ” Despite his best efforts, a tremor has crept into his voice and he pushes forward before it has a chance to spread to the rest of him and shake him apart. “The ones that...that fuck me up the most are where I’m unable to save _anyone_. Not even you.”

He can’t bring himself to tell her the rest of that one. He’s had it multiple times now -- had just woken up from it, in fact -- and every time he does, he ends up burying her alongside his brothers. It takes him days of digging through the rubble to find each of their broken and mangled bodies, and all he’s left with in the end is an utter lack of purpose, a shovel in one hand, and his blaster in the other.

"None of that was your fault,” Ahsoka says, bringing him out of his dark thoughts as he opens his eyes to look at her. “None of it." She earnestly tries to meet his gaze and he turns away. "I don't blame you! _No one_ would."

He lets out a rueful bark of laughter. "Are you sure you don't?" he asks, and now he _does_ meet her eyes. "Your saber at my throat a minute ago sure said otherwise." He knows that’s a low blow and watches her eyes grow wide. Before she can say anything, he leans his head back against the ship wall and continues. "Besides, how could you _not_ blame me? I sure do."

"Rex, you tried your best." Her voice is soft and laced with grief. 

"But it wasn't enough, was it?" He closes his eyes for a moment in a vain attempt to push his emotions aside, to bury them deep down in himself, just like he always has. But they won’t stay down. He swallows harshly. "I should have gone to Anakin or Kenobi about the chip. Fuck, even _Cody._ Instead, all I did was file a report I knew would be heard by people who didn’t care! I could have done something _, anything_ else!" The last words come out almost as a yell and he can feel himself achingly close to tears. His face grows warm with shame and frustration, and he grits his teeth, refusing to cry in front of her again. “And now I can’t even help _you._ ” He jerks his chin at her lightsaber, still sitting on the floor of the ship where she had dropped it.

Ahsoka lifts her head from her folded arms to look at him. “I do _not_ blame you _._ I...it was just an automatic reaction. I promise, it wasn’t because of you, personally.”

Rex just stares at her, too tired and numb to argue.

“Look,” Ahsoka says, and there’s a pleading note in her voice that matches the distress in her eyes. “There was no way you could have known. _No one knew._ Therefore, there wasn’t anything you could do. Or me. Maybe not even the Jedi Council.”

He wonders who she’s trying harder to convince, him or herself. 

The silence sits heavy between them, cloyingly thick and uncomfortable. Ahsoka bites her lip and for a worrying second, he thinks she might start crying again. As usual, however, she surprises him by determinedly setting her jaw and shuffling over to sit next to him. 

As she gets herself situated and bumps his shoulder with hers, he supposes he should know better by now than to expect Ahsoka to do anything _expected._ He holds himself still when she shifts and leans against him, unsure what her intentions are until she rests her head on his shoulder. After a moment of indecision, he tilts his head against hers.

Gradually, Rex feels himself relax as Ahsoka's body heat warms his side. He can't remember the last time he’d simply _sat_ with someone, or touched them without the intent to harm or simply get their attention. Despite everything, it's _nice_. 

" _Ugh_ ," Ahsoka groans, "you think too loud." She breaks off with a wide yawn and, mumbles tiredly, "I'm guessin' you still haven't slept, have you?"

It's not exactly a _question_ , but Rex feels inclined to answer anyway. "No--" he yawns widely himself, "--I haven't. Not really." He feels an irrational twinge of guilt at her responding sigh.

"Well, c’mon, then," she says, moving away from him. Before he can protest the loss of warmth, she grabs his hand and gives it a tug, leading him away from the wall.

"What are you--" 

"Hush," she says, "We're gonna try something that me and some of the Jedi younglings I trained with used to do. Sometimes we'd get sent on a training assignment or something and some of us would get scared." She pulls him down to the sleeping pad. "It helped us feel safer. Or calmed us, at least. Lay down on your back."

With that, Ahsoka gives him a gentle push to the chest, and he goes down with only a light grumble as his lower back protests the movement. She follows quickly, arranging them so that when she finally settles, her head is resting on his uninjured shoulder. She's facing him, her hand resting lightly on his chest, his arm curled around her. Within moments, her breathing evens out into the slow, steady breaths of sleep.

Rex holds very still at first, uncertain. This is _new_ for them, and this level of comforting contact isn't something he's indulged in with his fellow clones since he started climbing ranks. He feels _warm_. Lighter, and calm. At the same time, the persistent tears from earlier are back at the corners of his eyes, making him feel like he's about to cry.

He brusquely wipes away a tear as it slides down his cheek. With a sigh, he closes his eyes and _finally_ lets sleep wash over him.

\---

Rex wakes up slowly, his body feeling heavy and surprisingly relaxed. Usually upon waking, his mind is almost immediately alert. This time, however, it takes him a moment before he is able to clear the fog in his head. Once he does, he realizes that one, he's alone, and two, this is the first time in days that he’d slept through an entire sleep cycle, nightmare-free.

He's uncomfortably disappointed at waking alone. Which is ridiculous. Why should it matter whether or not he wakes up alone? It never has in the past, and it shouldn't now. Except…

Except it had felt _good._ To touch and be touched. It probably would have been quite comforting to wake up so close to someone else. He scowls up at the low ceiling, frustrated with himself. He feels like he's lost his self discipline, somehow. Unable to sleep properly, forgetting to eat, and now getting upset at the loss of physical contact. It all would have been unacceptable and worthy of reconditioning had he been back at base. 

But he isn't. Everything has gone to shit, and all they have won and lost means absolutely nothing now. Including his lack of discipline. 

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment before sitting up slowly. He startles when his stomach gives an audible growl. He's still bone tired, but he feels more aware now; of his surroundings, of _himself._ Running a hand over his head, he realizes he’s not entirely sure how many days have passed since the Order or where they even _are._ If they have a plan, he doesn’t remember that, either.

Just as his chest starts to feel tight from his rising anxiety, Ahsoka pokes her head through the cabin’s entrance. Her face brightens when she sees him awake and sitting up. “Good afternoon, Sleepy Head. I thought I heard you stirring back here.”

Rex stifles a yawn. “How long was I asleep?”

"Hmmm," Ahsoka hums as she enters the space, "sixteen hours or thereabouts?"

_Almost a full standard day?_ That was--

He must have shown some indication of his mounting distress--another failure to add to the growing list-- because Ahsoka raises her hands placatingly as she sits cross-legged in front of him. "You were completely exhausted, Rex. Please don't do that again." She sighs, and she looks so weary that he can't bring himself to comment before she continues. "Go without sleep, I mean."

He rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. Finally, he lets out a gusting breath. "I'll try not to," he promises quietly.

"How do you feel now?"

"Better." He yawns, unable to keep this one at bay. "Considerably better."

Ahsoka smiles softly. "That's good. I slept better, too. Nightmares?"

"None."

"Yeah, me either."

They sit across from each other for a moment. Rex watches Ahsoka as she fiddles with her wrist bracers. He waits, knowing she probably has something on her mind and is just looking for the right words.

Not looking at him she says, "We may want to consider keeping to that sleeping arrangement for a while...or at least while we're on this ship?"

Rex nods. "Works for me." It’s definitely worth trying, he figures, since they had both woken up better rested. He can't believe he let himself get to such a state. Shame creeps up the back of his neck as a heated flush. He should be able to take better care of his own basic needs without requiring someone else to intervene.

A touch to his forearm starts him out of his thoughts. He looks up and Ahsoka smiles wanly at him. "Don't go beating yourself up for any of this," she says at last. "We've lost….so much. It's understandable that you're struggling right now.'

_What about you, though?_ He wants to ask; he doubts she's as calm about all of this as she lets on. Her dreams alone say that much. However instead of asking, he lets himself open up a little. "I don't know what to do now, Ahsoka," he confesses.

She removes her hand from where she had let it rest on his arm and takes one to his hands. Giving it a gentle squeeze, she says, "Honestly, me either. But... I believe we'll figure something out."

Rex can hear her unspoken, "We've got to," and turns his hand in hers. He squeezes her hand in reassurance, knowing that with her by his side, they would.


	5. Ja’hailir: (v) observe, watch over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din tends to (some of) his injuries and Kuiil gets him thinking about family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guys! The last two weeks of my internship had me scrambling like mad and then the semester started immediately after that. I've been very busy and very tired lol. From here on out, updates will be as I have the time and energy. I've got a full course load in addition to research hours, so. We'll see what happens!
> 
> This was written in small spurts between like. 11pm and 3am. And it's not as thoroughly betaed as past chapters, but I can't look at it anymore lmao. Hopefully it's coherent...
> 
> Huge thanks to Lia for helping me with this one 💛
> 
> It's mostly soft this time! Hooray!

9 ABY, Summer

\--------------------

Din looks over his shoulder at the Child for the third time since leaving Nevarro. His tiny charge snores softly amongst his blankets, just as he was doing when he checked the first time. And the second. He can’t seem to help himself. He had been so close to losing him on this epic failure of a mission that he now finds himself afraid to leave the Child out of his sight for too long. 

He stares at the kid in the old repurposed munitions box for a moment longer before sagging into his seat with a weary sigh. He is utterly exhausted but he stubbornly tries to push it aside; they have to get as far from Nevarro as possible.

Din checks the gauges and screens before him to make sure he has calculated the path right and entered it correctly. He swallows back a scream, however, when he goes to move his right arm. The adrenaline had been doing such a great job at muffling the agony his body was in and now that it is wearing off, there isn’t a single part of him that isn’t in pain. He’s sure that even the day he rescued the Child hadn’t left him feeling this awful.

Attempting to roll his shoulder only causes fire to shoot down the limb. Din bites his lip and breathes deeply through his nose in a vain attempt to control the pain. 

As it fades, he comes to the foggy conclusion that his shoulder is dislocated and that he should _probably_ do something about it. When he goes to stand up from his chair, his lower back flares up in agony, causing his spine to lock up. He grits his teeth and pounds his fist on the arm of the chair, only to whip his head back towards the kid once more to make sure he hasn’t woken him.

The Child hadn’t even twitched.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Din carefully eases himself out of the chair this time. The pain is manageable, but barely. 

He contemplates the ground for a moment before disregarding it, apprehension at yet more pain in his back causing his stomach to churn. Setting his arm by himself is never easy -- he's had to do it a few times -- but the slightly more manageable option of doing it while prone on the floor isn’t worth the inevitable pain of trying to stand up again. Resignedly, he removes his right shoulder pauldron.

The sight of his dislocated shoulder under his _kute_ makes him feel vaguely ill, despite having seen wounds much worse before. There’s just something unsettling about a bone being visibly out of place. 

Keeping his breathing regular and controlled, Din reaches with his left arm to grab his right wrist. The bulk of his cuirass makes the move awkward, but he is able to move his wrist up and bend his right elbow so that his hand is at shoulder height. Once there, he shifts his grip from his wrist to his elbow and brings his left forearm over his helmet and behind his neck. He focuses on his breaths to make them slow and deep as he slowly pulls his right hand over until it’s behind his head, causing his elbow to raise up to shoulder height.

Sweat is dripping into his eyes and down his neck as the pain in his shoulder builds to almost intolerable. He takes a moment to steady himself before moving onto the next movements. His instinct is to do it quickly in an attempt to get it over with, but he knows this will only cause him more pain in the long run. Instead, he slowly continues tugging at his right hand and raising the elbow. As he gets his arm closer to vertical, he can feel the shifting of his bones under his skin. A half inch more movement and a sharp stab of pain later, he sighs as his shoulder resets itself by clicking into proper place. It aches now and he’ll have to find some way to apply a cold pack to it, but he can move his arm again and that’s all he cares about at the moment.

Exhausted, aching, Din collapses back into the pilot seat. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wishing the pain in his back would stop. 

\--

He must have dozed off for a moment because he wakes up to the feeling of a little clawed hand under his sleeve. It's touching the bare skin of his wrist and Din notes groggily that the point of contact is unusually warm. He feels relaxed, the pain in his back softening to a--

With a start, he jerks his arm away from the source of the warmth. "No, _ad'ika,"_ he says, leaning slightly over the arm of the chair to look at the Child. 

The kid stares at him with wide eyes, his ears hanging low. He lets out a plaintive whine and brings his hands up in front of him, fingertips pressed together.

"You can't heal me, _ad_ ." The Child reaches up to him, making a grasping motion with his fingers. Din shakes his head. "No. We don't know what using your... _powers_ does to you. Save your energy. I'll heal."

Din's not entirely sure why he bothers explaining all of this to the Child; could he even make sense of his words? As the _ik'aad_ plops down with a petulant expression on his face, he supposes he must understand at least a little of what he's said. Sighing, he leans back into the chair and closes his eyes.

" _Vor'e, ad,"_ he mutters. 

He's just starting to drift off again when he hears an inquisitive coo. Resigned, he looks towards the Child again, ready to give him a light scolding if he was getting into something he shouldn't. Instead, he finds him right where he left him, but now he has something in his mouth.

"What you got there?" Din asks, trying to suppress the panic that always arises when he sees the Child eating things that shouldn't be eaten. The Child stops sucking on whatever it is and holds it up to him.

"Eh?" he coos.

Din gently takes the bauble and instantly recognizes what it is. "I didn't think I'd be seeing this again," he murmurs. He rubs his thumb over the surface of the mythosaur pendant, his heart aching. It had belonged to his _buir_ , once, and she had given it to him the day he swore to uphold the _Resol'nare._ Looking from the necklace to the Child, he makes a decision. 

Passing it back to the Child, he says roughly, "Why don't you hang onto that?" He smiles crookedly as the little one cocks his head to the side when he takes the pendant back and immediately sticks it in his mouth once more.

Din watches the Child for a moment, noticing the way his ears and eyelids start to droop. He should _probably_ get the kid into his own bed for some proper sleep, but the idea of not having him in his line of sight at the moment fills him with dread. He sighs. "Hey, kid," he says gruffly, "Come'ere." 

The Child looks up at him, still sucking on the pendant, his ears perked. With a soft warble, he toddles over to stand near Din's feet and coos around his mouth full of metal.

Din leans as far forward as his back will allow and hastily snags the Child by the collar of his robes. The kid giggles as he swings through the air before settling on Din's chest. Din kicks his feet up and leans back in his chair, resting one hand lightly on the baby's back. He idly strokes one long ear with his other hand.

The Child hums and nuzzles against the cowl at his collar before grasping at the fabric in one tiny hand.

Din has one last thought before he drifts to sleep to the sound of soft baby breaths: he _cannot_ make a habit of this.

\--

He wakes up sometime later to the sound of voices coming from below. For a brief moment, Din forgets that he and the Child aren’t the only ones on the ship right now. He quickly sits up in his chair, ignoring the stab of pain that lances down his back and into his leg. His hand instinctively comes to rest on the Child’s back to keep him from falling to the floor while his other hand hovers over his blaster. Recognizing Kuiil’s low cadence and IG-11’s dry responses, however, Din relaxes back into his seat.

Right. After making the journey back to the Razor Crest, Din had checked on Kuiil to see how he was doing. The Ugnaught had been more concerned for him and the Child than himself, but settled again when he saw Din holding the kid close. It probably helped that IG-11 had admonished Kuiil and directed him to lay back down before he hurt himself further.

“I am _fine._ I am old and injured, not dead,” Kuiil grumbled.

“You _were_ almost dead and therefore you must continue healing. Please, I must request that you lay back down.” Somehow, the droid’s mechanical voice sounded both stern and concerned. 

Din raised his eyebrow as Kuiil huffed but eventually settled back down on Din's bunk. When IG-11 turned to consider Din, he had managed to convince the droid he was fine and that Kuiil needed to be watched over more than he did. Before the droid could argue, Din had bolted for the ladder and up to the cockpit.

He sighs now and stares at the ceiling of the ship. Waking up to a shot of adrenaline is _not_ his ideal method of regaining consciousness. He’s about to fall back to sleep when the Child stirs and gives a huge yawn. Din watches in soft amusement as the kid’s ears stretch out behind him with the force of it.

“Mmmbbth,” the Child greets him, blinking sleep out of his big eyes. Din strokes one of his ears and the kid quickly settles back down on his chest, completely unfazed by the beskar chestplate he rests against. 

Holding him close, Din stands up stiffly. He bites his lip to keep himself from yelling out a few choice words as his body protests his movements by flooding his system with pain. Everything aches, most notably the shoulder he had thrown out and his lower back. His chest feels tight and he can feel his busted ribs shift with each breath.

Deciding he’s definitely felt worse before, he shoves the pain down and ignores it. He taps on the ship’s navigation screen and takes note of the time remaining until they get to Avarla-7.

Seven hours. He’d only been asleep for a little over an hour.

With a grunt, Din moves away from the control panels and makes his way down to the main deck. The ladder is hell on his back and arm, but he toughs it out, only having to grip the rungs and close his eyes once to keep from losing his balance.

“We have spoken about this -- the food is not ours. You cannot prepare it without asking.” 

Din pauses at the bottom of the ladder and peers down the length of the ship towards his supplies. Kuill is facing away from him, his hands on his hips as he talks to IG-11.

“I only wish to prepare sustenance for the Mandalorian. He must eat."

Din clears his throat before either of them can say anything else and both droid and Ugnaught turn to look at him. "Ah, thank you. But I'm fine." He shifts on his feet, feeling unsettlingly uncomfortable in his own ship. "You can fix something up if Kuiil needs anything, though."

The Child saves him from having to say anything else by gurgling and reaching out to Kuiil. Din looks between them before making his slow way over towards Kuiil. The Child coos happily and Din reluctantly passes him over; Kuiil looks surprised for a moment, but takes the kid easily and cradles him close. Din is slightly unnerved by the feeling of possessiveness that comes over him and swallows the urge to tell Kuiil to give the Child back. 

Kuiil looks up at Din from beneath his bushy eyebrows and Din is sure he can see a glimmer of knowing amusement in his eyes. "Perhaps the Child should eat, even if you will not?" 

"I suppose he could probably use some food."

Kuiil nods and looks to IG-11. "You can find something for the Child, then."

As IG-11 turns to search for something suitable for the kid, Din says to Kuiil, "We're about seven hours from Arvala-7, still. I suggest you continue to rest."

"You must do the same."

Din opens his mouth to protest, but IG comes back with a protein bar for the Child. He gently hands the food over to the Child and says, "Yes, I agree. You are both injured and should rest. I will keep watch over the ship while you do so."

Din wants to argue and insist on watching his own damn ship, but he can feel his energy levels dropping even as he stands here. He won't make it to the end of the hour without falling asleep again, let alone the full seven.

"Fine," he sighs. He watches the Child gnaw on the ration bar and wonders how this has become his life. 

"You should know that you have a horrible selection of food for taking proper care of a young one," the droid intones.

Din doesn't bother to respond, well aware of the state of his supply levels; he's going to have to stop somewhere soon. 

Kuiil takes the partially eaten ration from the Child as he falls back to sleep, his clawed hands loosening their grip on the food. "You should take your bunk," he says, looking up at Din again. 

"I'm fine going back up to the cockpit." Even as he says it, though, his back twinges uncomfortably. 

"I shall take the floor. You and the young one are still recovering from your ordeal and should sleep in a proper bed. I am already feeling much better than I was and the floor and a blanket will be just fine. I have spoken." With an air of finality, he holds the sleeping Child out to Din, who takes him back automatically and tucks him on his shoulder under his chin.

Din stares at the Ugnaught and droid and knows there is no point in arguing. With another sigh, he inclines his head. "Thank you." 

After telling IG-11 where to find the spare blankets for Kuiil, Din makes his way over to his small bunk. With a groan, he settles on the shabby mattress on his side. He can feel his hip, back, and shoulder throb with the beat of his heart and he wishes he could take off his armor and helmet to get more comfortable, but he can't. Instead, he ignores his body's protests and curls up around the Child and drifts into a fitful sleep.

\----

By the time they make landing on Arvala-7, Kuiil is doing significantly better than the half cycle previously, thanks to the bacta and patching up IG-11 had given him. Din, on the other hand, has yet to take a proper look at his various wounds. He can tell by the deep aches settling into his body that he is likely covered in significant bruising. When he had gone to roll out of bed at the sound of IG-11 waking him up to prepare for descent, he'd had to bite his lip and take deep breaths through his nose to keep himself from yelling. The Child chattered anxiously when Din had immediately turned and told him to not try any healing.

Now, Din sits on one of the cushions surrounding Kuiil's low dining table and watches as IG-11 goes about chopping up various vegetables and meats. Kuiil had insisted on cooking a meal for him to take on his travels, but IG-11 wanted to help with the prep work. Din finds the droid's persistent need to provide food and care disconcertingly endearing. He never thought he'd find himself waiting for a droid to finish making him food before he could continue on his way, but here he is doing just that.

"Go on, show him." Din looks over at the sound of Kuiil's voice as he enters his home. After IG claimed the dwelling's small kitchen for his own use, Kuiil had taken the Child out to one of his work sheds to grab something. The Child is now toddling over to him in front of Kuiil, a few objects clutched against his chest.

"What do you have there, little one?" Din asks holding out his hand to the Child. He's looking at Kuiil though, surprised to see the old man gazing fondly at the Child.

"Toooooehh," the Child chirps, pushing something into Din's awaiting hand. Din moves his gaze from Kuiil to the kid so he doesn't drop whatever he is being handed. The Child has given him a small, rather detailed likeness of a wooden mythosaur. Din turns it in his hands and the Child gurgles happily before placing two more carvings in his hand. One is a loth-cat in mid crouch and the other is a blurrg.

"Did you make these?" Din asks Kuiil as he hands each figure back to the happy Child, who plops to the ground with his new toys.

"I did. Without having to worry about my blurrg and farm after you had taken out the bounty hunters, and then having IG-11 to help me with my tasks, I found myself with spare time. So I made the little one toys in case we happened to see each other again."

"That was very kind of you," Din says, not knowing what else to say. He feels a warmth settle in his chest and he can't place the emotion it's tied to; the Child didn't really have any toys outside of the small krill doll Winta had given him back on Sorgan. 

Kuiil doesn't respond and instead moves through his home and back to take the IG's place in the kitchen. The droid shuffles over to an out of the way corner and stands there like a sentry to watch them while Kuiil starts up a fire and sets a pot over it.

"Where will you go next?" Kuiil asks Din.

"I plan on laying low for a while. Keep to the Outer Rim as much as possible. I'm not exactly sure where though." The Armorer's task seems more and more impossible each time he thinks about it.

Kuiil hums thoughtfully as he drops the diced meat into the pot -- Din's stomach clenches painfully at the smell of it cooking and he realizes he's uncertain of how long it has been since his last full meal.

"Why not find your people again and go to them?" Kuiil eventually asks.

"I can't," Din says, shaking his head. "I have to find the Child's own kind." The Armorer's words echo is his head.

Kuiil shakes his head in response while pumping water into the pot and dropping in the vegetables. "You may do better to find help, first. Surely you have learned that you cannot do everything alone." He moves away from the now bubbling pot and sits across from Din. "Seemingly insurmountable tasks are easier to overcome with the help of friends and family."

Din is torn. He knows Kuiil speaks the truth, and that he will likely be more successful if he has help. But he trusts Matori -- she is his Alor. She has always had a way of _knowing_ things, of having a kind of wisdom that he cannot understand. If she says he must find the Child's family, then that is what he must do. And anyway, finding help wouldn't be as easy as Kuiil implies.

"It's not that simple…" Din starts.

"And why not?"

"I…" he pauses, contemplating his next words. "I'm not sure anyone in my tribe would _want_ to help me. I don't really have any close ties to anyone." Everyone who ever cared about him is gone. Din's chest aches, not having said any of this outloud before. Doing so gives the words a kind of power and truth, one he refuses to think about. 

"Besides," he continues, "the Covert has just lost so many people." _Because of me, again._ "They need to stick together and stay away from me and the Child. Karga has called off the bounty on mine and the Child's heads, but who's to say no one else will be looking for us? It's too risky."

"But is it not a contradiction to name you the Child's father, and then instruct you to find his own kind?"

Din can't deny that statement, having had the exact same thought. Still, he cannot return to his people. Not yet. 

Kuiil deflates slightly, reading Din's silence as the stubborn refusal to change his mind that it is. "Your mind is made up, then," Kuiil says, no judgement in his voice.

"It is. This is the Way." 

They sit in silence for a while after that; it's not uncomfortable or awkward, merely contemplative. The fire Kuiil had started is soothing. Not in the same way as the forge of his Alor, but soothing nonetheless. Din can feel his aching body begin to relax minutely as the heat seeps into his bones. The Child must be feeling something similar because he grasps at Din's pants before hauling himself up to settle in his lap. He clutches the small wooden blurrg close to his chest and lets out a soft trill in contentment. 

Din stares down at the top of the Child's head, his heart aching. What might it be like to truly be part of an _aliit_ again? Not…whatever this is with him and the Child. He really doesn't understand why Alor'Matori declared them a clan of two while also telling him to find the Child's own kind. Because Kuiil is right -- they _are_ contradictory statements. Blood ties don't mean a thing to Mandalorians, so why is finding the Child's family so important? 

He wishes he had someone to talk to, someone who could puzzle out the Armorer's words and help him understand her intent. He wishes…

He wishes for a lot of things. He wishes he had never left the Child with the Client; that he knew what he was doing; that Moff Gideon hadn't sent the Storm Troopers to smoke out the Covert; that he hadn't lost yet more tribe and clan members; that the events of the last hours and the words of one man hadn't unearthed memories he had long since buried deep.

 _"Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,"_ Din whispers without much thought. It has been too long since he has last paid tribute to those who had passed on into the _manda._ He doesn't know the names of everyone they had lost in the tunnels or in the fighting afterwards on Nevarro, but he vows to learn them so he can give the dead a proper tribute.

The scent of scorched metal inexplicably drifts over him and he fights down a full body shudder.

He doesn't know the names of the Mandalorians that had lost their lives these last few days, but he _does_ remember the names of the _ade_ he failed to protect almost a decade ago. He opens his mouth to whisper them to himself, but no sound comes out. He tries again and the only thing to pass his lips is a shaking breath. Swallowing, he gives up on saying the names out loud and mouths them instead. With each name, Din feels his chest constrict a little tighter, his body filling up with more emotion than he knows how to process.

Fourteen. Fourteen names belonging to fourteen children that never got the chance to grow into themselves.

A tear slides down his cheek and he does his best to ignore it. At the sound of a soft _coo,_ he blinks to clear his vision and finds himself looking into the eyes of the Child. The Child's long ears perk up when he catches Din looking and he can't help but to give a small, crooked smile in return.

The sight of the Child stirs up his earlier thoughts of _aliit,_ and he sighs at the weight of them. There are other names he can't bring himself to even think about. Names that belonged to those he once held most dear. While his heart shies violently away from those names, unwilling to endure the agony they bring with them, he still feels the need to acknowledge and honor those they belonged to. He lets their titles pass through his mind as he releases a trembling breath.

_Ba'vode. Buir._

_\---_

As much as he’d like to stay, Din knows he can’t. He has a mission, a task, and a Child who is counting on him to find his family. Besides, he had already asked too much of Kuiil; he wouldn’t be comfortable if he asked for more. The Ugnaught lost his blurrgs, not to mention nearly losing his droid and his own life.

“You and the Child are welcome to stay here for as long as you need,” Kuiil says, watching as Din carefully shifts the sleeping Child from his lap and into his arms.

Din shakes his head, regret making words harder than normal for him. “We cannot.”

Kuiil crosses his arms. “And why not?”

“The same reasons I can’t go back to my tribe.” Din strokes the Child’s ear gently and adjusts his sleeping charge so that he can hold him in the crook of his elbow. When he looks back up, Kuiil is shaking his head.

IG-11 cuts in from where he is standing in the corner. “If you stay, I will be able to both heal you and protect this establishment.”

Din is sorely tempted--he’s tired, he hurts, and a chance to _rest_ sounds perfect. But he can’t. He is fond of Kuiil and, surprisingly, the droid. He’s not sure what he’d do if he inadvertently brought harm to either of them. The risk isn’t worth it.

“I wish I could…” he says, surprising himself with his own openness. “But you have already done so much to help me. I already owe you a debt.” 

Kuiil sighs and drops his arms down from his chest. “Stubborn younglings…” he mutters, just loud enough for Din’s helmet to pick up. “If you insist,” he continues, louder. “But you will take my com-frequency. I have spoken.”

Din nods, relenting to Kuiil’s compromise. “Only if you reach out should you ever need assistance.”

With a quick nod of his head, Kuiil responds, “Deal.”

After Din awkwardly programs Kuiil’s information into his vambrace while still holding the Child, IG-11 moves to his side holding a container of the stew Kuiil had made him. Din takes it from him and inclines his head. As he straightens, he realizes the gesture was for more than just thanks and acceptance of the food, but of the droid himself. He knew he had grown grudgingly fond of the IG unit, but he is surprised at the level of respect he feels, too. 

_“Vor entye,”_ he says, looking between the droid and Kuiil, “both of you.” He’s going to miss them, he thinks, not expecting the earlier pang of regret to intensify.

Kuiil waves him off in the same way he did the last time Din left him. His expression grows fond and knowing as he looks between the sleeping Child and Din. “When we parted last, I knew you would do what was right and keep the Child. I could tell you would make a fine father.” Din opens his mouth in surprise, but Kuiil continues before he can say anything. “Now, seeing you here, holding the small creature like it is precious to you, I know you’ll be a great one. I have spoken.”

Once more, Din finds himself unable to speak. Kuiil’s words are more unexpected than the realization that IG-11 has a place in his heart alongside the Ugnaught and Cara. He feels a spark of warm pride in his chest and he holds the Child a little closer. 

Guilt quickly smothers the warmth, however. He never had any intentions of being a father. How could Kuiil say such things, knowing he had intended to deliver the Child as a bounty? And that he actually _had?_ There is no way he can ever be considered a _good father_ based on that action alone, let alone every other morally dubious decision he's made in the last decade.

Not knowing how to respond, Din looks at the floor and shakes his head. He notices one of the Child’s new toys on the ground and bends to pick it up, using the time it takes to accomplish the small task to gather his thoughts. He glances back up at Kuiil as he straightens and words still fail him. Giving up, he draws upon something Cara had said to him what feels like ages ago. “Until our paths cross, Kuiil. IG-11.”

“And they likely will,” Kuiil says. “You take care of yourself and the little one.”

Din nods. “I will.” Juggling arms full of baby, toys, and a hot meal, Din ducks out of Kuiil’s home.

The Child mumbles in his sleep as Din makes his way up the ramp and into the Razor Crest. He places the stew in the ship’s small conservator for later -- giving the door a kick when it doesn’t close properly the first time -- and manages to get them both up the ladder and into the cockpit. 

Setting the Child down gently in his box-pram, he's flooded with soft affection. The kid is so _small_ , so delicate. Despite all of his earlier fears and doubts, he wants nothing more than to protect the Child, to give him the best life he can.

He can’t help but think of his own _buir_ as he tucks the Child's blanket around him. He’s not sure he can ever live up to her as a parent -- all she had done for him, all she had sacrificed. Had she ever felt this out of depth? This uncertain and full of doubt? She had always seemed so strong and certain to him, even when he was upset at her and didn’t understand why she had to do what she did.

Conflicted, torn between what he knows he needs to do and what he wants to do, Din steps back and moves to his chair. He stares out the viewscreen for a moment before sighing and beginning the start-up sequence for the 'Crest. 

He has no idea what he's supposed to do now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Kute: underarmor/bodysuit  
> Ad'ika: little one  
> ad: child  
> ik'aad: child under 3  
> Vor'e, ad: thanks, child  
> Buir: parent  
> Resol'nare: 6 Acts/the Mandalorian creed  
> Aliit: clan/family  
> Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum: I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal  
> Manda: collective soul or heaven  
> Ade: children  
> Ba'vode. Buir : aunts/uncles, parent
> 
> \-----
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated <3


	6. Interlude: Ahsoka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _of dust we rise and dust we part_   
>  _so bless these lungs and save my heart_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> Some of you might recognize parts of this chapter from my fic _It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah_ , which was my first fic featuring Rex and Ahsoka. This chapter is a rewrite of that. Please note, however, that this chapter is 4k longer than that original oneshot. And it deals with a lot more. 
> 
> Please heed the updated tags and rating. There's a brief discussion of consent and autonomy in regards to what happened to Rex in the finale of Clone Wars and there are certain implications there that I feel need to be addressed. The rating bump is entirely out of caution.
> 
> Much thanks to [Lia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littleluna0304) for the help with this one and for listening to me cry at every hour of the day over how much i love these two. Shout out to Kata and Red, who's advice and insight helped make the ending of this chapter what it is. Wouldn't have had the wherewithal to write it without ya!
> 
> New playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0zlkO6fqef71Du1iEmpY5Q?si=Ehm5cmMeTdSIlxhGnrfq5w).

19 BBY, Summer-Autumn

\----------------------------

They've been on the run for a few weeks now--it feels like an eternity to Ahsoka--and they've had little time to rest. Not that either of them _wants_ to rest. No. Resting means time for wandering thoughts, and wandering thoughts inevitably lead to pain. Both of them are bone-weary exhausted, and while the sleeping arrangements she had worked out have helped quell _some_ of their night terrors, sleep is still sporadic. She continues to have frequent nightmares, and she’s pretty sure Rex does, too, if his haunted expression and the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by.

“We need to rest,” Rex says, grimacing. “Or at least restock on provisions. Maybe find a ship more suited to our current needs…” He trails off, looking out their viewscreen at the surface of the small planetoid below.

Internally, Ahsoka rejoices. She's more than ready for the chance to walk on solid ground for longer than it takes to refuel. Outloud, she says, “Think it’s safe?”

Rex shrugs a shoulder--the one that isn’t still stiff and aching. “Hard to say until we take a chance. We’re probably far enough out now that if there _are_ any…” He falters on his words yet again, and Ahsoka feels her chest ache with continued grief.

_He means if we run into any Clone Troopers. Or whatever they are now._

“We should be able to handle them.” She winces at her choice of words, but Rex doesn’t comment. He just nods and begins flipping switches and getting them ready for the descent. 

Ahsoka bites at her bottom lip before patting the back of the chair. She makes her way into the back to see what few belongings they have that are worth taking with them. If Rex wants to find a new ship, they’re going to have to find a way to barter and trade for one. After her stint away from the Jedi Order, she barely has any credits left--not that being a Jedi really _paid_ anything--and while she hasn’t asked, she’s pretty sure Rex doesn’t have a credit to his name and never has. None of the clones did. No one saw a _need_ to pay them, because they were considered _expendable_ , and why bother paying someone you figured was going to be dead within months?

She scowls and folds up their bedrolls and blankets, her movements harsh. Something rolls towards her when she grabs her pack and she stares at it for a long moment. Rex must have set her shoto blade next to the bag at some point because she sure hadn't put it there; she hasn’t been able to stomach the idea of touching it since the night she drew it on him. She debates for a second before sighing and shoving the hilt into the bottom of her bag. It’d be stupid to leave it on the ship while they weren’t there to tend to it.

The ship starts to shake, signalling they’ve entered the atmosphere. Ahsoka hastily grabs a bunch of ration bars and throws them on top of her blade. She really doesn’t have a whole lot else, she realizes. Just her cloak; a blaster that Rex has been showing her how to take apart, clean, and put back together; a spare pair of clothes she’s been cycling between. Chest uncomfortably tight, she straps her bedroll to the top of her bag and moves on to getting Rex’s packed.

He’s not much better off than she is. A spare undershirt and pants, his favored blasters, his armor. A thought occurs to her as she gets his stuff situated and adds a medpack on top. Rex won’t be able to wear his armor on the planet’s surface, not if they’re going to be there for a while. It’s too distinctive and would draw too many eyes. 

“Oh, he’s not gonna like this…” she mutters.

“Like what?”

Ahsoka spins on her heels, losing her balance from the crouch she is in, and lands on her butt. She looks over at where Rex is standing in the small entrance. “Your armor…”

“I’ve already been thinking about it.”

“Oh?” she says, relief flowing through her.

Rex nods. “You still have your cloak, right?”

Immediately catching on, Ahsoka pulls the item back out of her pack and tosses it to him. “Should be long enough to cover most of your legs, too. You’ll probably have to remove the pauldron, though.” She gestures at the flared blue piece that goes over his left shoulder.

Rex nods and detaches the armor. After setting it aside, he throws the cloak on. Arms held out to his sides and his head tilted slightly, he asks, "Will it work?"

Ahsoka purses her lips as she looks him over. His shins and boots still show, but she doesn't think anyone from this little planet will make the connection between them and the clone army. And even if they do, she doubts they'll care. "You should be just fine," she says with a nod of her head, passing him his bag and shouldering her own.

"Great. Let's get going then." 

\---

They manage to find a relatively affordable place to stay, as long as they aren't there for more than a few nights.

Ahsoka takes a moment to luxuriate in the ability to do a full body stretch, reaching her arms above her head and arching her back. Sure, the room they were given isn't _great_ , but there is space to move around and a small table to sit at. Besides, she knows she and Rex have stayed in much worse places over the years. She releases the tension in her back with a sigh and looks over to see what Rex is up to. 

He's sitting at the table, fiddling with his shirt sleeve again, head bowed in thought. Ahsoka blinks, her eyes catching on the sight of his hair. It's grown out a fair bit in the last few weeks and the strands have enough length now to curl and coil into ringlets. The surgical plate the medical droid had put in place after removing his chip is still there, a stark contrast to the new hair around it. Which, she notices, is dark at the roots and colored at the tips. Now that she thinks about it, of course Rex colors his hair. With the rare exception of Rex and a few others, every other clone she had met had dark hair. She starts to smile at the thought of her friend meticulously applying dye after each trim, but it quickly dies when she realizes that it's yet one more interrupted routine. 

The lights of the dingy room flicker as Ahsoka sets about fixing up a small meal from some supplies they had picked up upon leaving the shipyard. It isn't much--just a reconstituted bread portion, a few strips of jerky, and a few local vegetables--but it's far better than what they had been eating. She hums when she takes a bite of the bread and watches Rex close his eyes as he eats one of the vegetables. She makes a mental note to make sure they grab more of the bread portions and perhaps some preserved vegetables before they move on again.

As they finish their meal in silence, Ahsoka keeps getting distracted by the sight of Rex's hair. Now that she's noticed the change, it's like she can't look away. Her fingers twitch with the urge to touch--it looks so soft--but she squashes the urge, unsure where it had even come from.

"Rex, your hair…" she murmurs, finally breaking the silence. She trails off, unsure what she had been going to say.

Rex lets out a huff, something between a sigh and a laugh, and rubs self-consciously at his head. "Yeaaaahhhh," he says roughly, "I know. I was actually thinking about doing something about it tonight now that we have an actual 'fresher." He doesn't look at her, choosing instead to continue picking at the sleeve of his under-armor.

Ahsoka's heart aches at the sight; she can count the number of times she's seen Rex this uncertain on the fingers of one hand. And most of those incidents had been in the last month alone. The longer he's away from all he's ever known, the more off balance and unsure he becomes. She finds that she can relate all too well; she, too, only knows how to be a soldier after all.

She chews at her lip before asking, "Do you need any help?"

He's quiet, his hands now sitting still on the rickety table before him, eyes distant. Ahsoka is about to retract her question when he shakes his head.

"Nah," he says. "I can handle it just fine." He pauses for a second, shooting her a glance. "Thanks, though."

Ahsoka nods and moves to take a seat on the lumpy mattress Rex insisted she use when they had first noticed the single bed. His exact words had been that he would be 'just fine on the floor, Commander.' She had wanted to protest, if only because they had been sharing a sleeping space for weeks now, but instead thanked him and accepted the offer. She sighs now and goes to pull out her lightsabers, intending to go through the nightly routine of cleaning and polishing them, only to stop when her fingers find nothing but a blaster at her side. She groans and leans back, a mattress spring stabbing her in the hip.

Right. She has her own ruined routines. Despite it being nearly a fortnight since Order 66--since she dropped her saber to the ground and later tossed her shoto blade across the ship's cabin--she's moved to polish and clean them every single night.

She hates it.

The sound of an old razor starting up draws her out of her spiraling thoughts and she looks over to watch Rex standing by the fresher. She has no idea where he might have found the razor, and wonders idly if it's something the clones just kept in their kits. 

Front to back. Front to back. Rex moves the razor methodically through his hair, the lighter ends falling away to dust the sink and his shoulders. Ahsoka closes her eyes at the rhythmic hum of the razor; it's unexpectedly soothing. 

When it stops, she opens an eye and looks back over at Rex. He dusts off his shoulders and the counter and sets the razor down. He stretches his arms over his head and rolls his neck from side to side before turning to her.

"Rest. I'll take first watch."

"You sure?" She asks. "Do you think we actually need to keep watch here?" His blank stare is answer enough and she shakes her head. "Rex, you need to sleep. We both need to. Keeping watch is hardly gonna matter if you're so tired you can't see straight."

Rex looks like he wants to protest for a moment before he sighs. "Fine. I'll clean my blasters and then go to sleep. Deal?"

"I guess," she huffs. She doesn't need to make him promise that he won't just stay up once she's asleep. If Rex says he'll do something, he will. Rex gives her a nod and her eyes catch on his newly trimmed hair; it’s still dark. "Are you not going to dye it?" she blurts out.

"No point. It's fine." His voice is affectatious as he turns away, as though everything really is _fine._

She sincerely has her doubts but she lets it go. She shifts on the bed in a vain attempt to get comfortable and closes her eyes again. "If you say so," she says. She cracks an eye back open and looks at him. "Don't take too long to clean your blasters." 

"Yes, ma'am."

She bristles slightly at his continued use of her old rank. It doesn't even _mean_ anything now, and even if it did, they were of the same rank anyway since Rex had been promoted before Mandalore. She lets this go, too, knowing that he's likely trying to hold onto as much of their past life as he can. He hasn't called her _Commander_ or _Tano_ since the incident with her lightsaber, though, and as she begins to drift to sleep, she can't help but wonder what it is about being off the ship that's brought back the use of her rank. 

\---

Something causes Ahsoka to waken abruptly in the night. She'd grown too used to Rex's comforting presence within reach and now that he isn't sleeping at her side, her sleep has been fitful at best. She stares into the dark room, trying to determine what it was that had awoken her. Figuring it's pointless to try and see anything, she closes her eyes and focuses her attention on her hearing and the extra spatial awareness her montrals provide her.

Unable to sense anything unusual, she is ready to attribute her disturbed sleep to nerves. As she thinks about going back to sleep, however, she hears it: muffled, softly hitching breaths. She knows exactly what that sound means, having made similar noises many times over the past weeks. Rex is either crying and trying not to make a sound, panicking, or both. She bites her lip, unsure whether it would be a good idea to call out to him or not. Recalling the moment they had stood on the deck of the doomed ship -- the way he had turned his head away from her as a tear ran down his cheek -- she doubts he'd react all that well.

She hates this. She hates not being able to help him, not even knowing where to start. She hates her own disrupted sleep and inability to stop jumping at shadows. Nothing makes sense anymore and everything _hurts--_

" _Kriffing hell,_ " Rex mutters, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

His voice is hoarse and broken and it's an act of willpower to keep from asking him if he's alright. She listens as he tosses off his blanket and tugs on his boots before going outside. When the door finishes sliding closed with a _whir_ and _click,_ Ahsoka lets out a long breath. She feels shaken and unsteady, but pushes it aside. Now isn't the time to be all upset, not when her friend might need her.

She gives Rex a few minutes alone, knowing he wouldn't have gone very far and that he likely needs a moment to find his composure again. She throws her cloak over her tank top and finds her own boots before heading out after him.

As she suspected, he hasn't gone far -- just to the end of the row of identical motel doors. He's backlit by the establishment's garish neon lighting, his arms crossed as he leans back against the corner of the building. It's raining lightly and she pulls the hood of her cloak up as she walks over to stand next to him. 

He doesn't turn to look at her. Instead, he continues to gaze out over the densely packed city. "What are you doing awake?" he asks gruffly.

"Heard you get up," she says, picking her words carefully. "Thought I'd come see if everything was okay." 

He sighs and uncrosses his arms. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Ahsoka looks over at him. Takes in the way he's now rubbing at the back of his neck in discomfort, the weary tug at the corner of his mouth. Perpetual exhaustion and heartbreak has erased the glint of mischief from his eyes, the way he'd sometimes look seconds away from smiling. Something under her breastbone aches and she wonders if she'll ever see that version of Rex again.

"It's okay," she replies quietly. "Wasn't sleeping very well, anyway. Probably got too used to sleeping in close quarters or something." She jerks her head back in the direction of their room. "C'mon, we're both tired. Let's get to bed."

Ahsoka starts walking and is relieved when she senses Rex following shortly after. A trembling starts up in her hands as she's hit with a sudden overwhelming urge to cry; whether in relief, exhaustion, or utter panic, she can't say. She just knows she has no idea where to go from here. Wrapping her arms around herself in a semblance of a hug, she decides that if Rex doesn't take her up on her implicit offer, she'll have to get blunt and straight up ask him to sleep next to her. It's obvious they're both still in need of comfort.

Getting back to the room, she stops just inside the door and stands there for a moment. Rex places a hand on her shoulder as he walks by and she leans into his touch as he draws away. 

They remove their boots in silence and Ahsoka wonders what's going through Rex's head. Moving to sit on the bed, she looks up to see him staring blankly at nothing. He's holding his blanket before him like he forgot what he was doing mid-action.

Ahsoka feels the weight of exhaustion settle over her and she sighs. "Rex, just...c'mon. We need to sleep if we want to be able to barter for a better ship tomorrow. Please just...come to bed?" She'd probably feel embarrassed at the way that sounds if she wasn't so tired. As things stand now, however, she could care less about the implications of her words. 

Rex shakes his head a little as though coming out of a daze. Ahsoka can see a muscle in his jaw jump as he clenches his teeth together and she thinks he's going to turn down her offer again, but he doesn't. He sighs instead and walks to the bed, blanket still in hand.

Something in her chest loosens and she feels the tension in her shoulders dissipate. Quickly, she shuffles under the covers and curls up on her side. He settles next to her, stiff and awkward, and she doesn't understand what has changed between being on the ship and now. She searches the dark outline of his profile, but finds nothing that might provide any insight.

Reaching a hand up to touch his shoulder, she asks, "Wanna talk about what's on your mind?"

Turning his head to look at her he says, "What makes you think I've got something on my mind?"

"I dunno. Your broody silence, for one."

He sighs and shifts on his side to face her so that they look like a set of parentheses. "Figured you'd want to have some space to yourself now that we're off the ship."

Ahsoka shakes her head. "Nah. You'll know when I'm tired of you cause I'll say it." She swallows, glad for the cover of darkness, and says, "Right now, I'm just glad to have you close." 

She feels, rather than sees or hears, his response as he manages to find her hand in between them in the dark. When he gives it a squeeze, she squeezes back. 

Neither lets go of the other as they let sleep envelope them.

\-----

They're eventually able to secure a different ship -- one that's a bit larger and has its own defense system -- in exchange for some mechanical labor and the ship they came in on. They leave shortly after, not yet comfortable with the idea of sticking around any one spot for longer than they have to. 

As the days drag into weeks, however, Ahsoka starts losing track of the number of planets they stop on. They're all a blur at this point, and none of them are safe. Every planet that had been part of the Republic and had a company of Clone Troopers there to protect the people is now under occupation. Streets, villages, and cities are now watched by clone troopers in unpainted armor. Every one of them looks the exact same and it makes Ahsoka's skin crawl every time they come across more of them.

She cuts her eyes to the man sitting next to her, his helmet resting at his side. 

They're on yet another planet in the furthest reaches of the outer rim. They've settled down to camp out a short distance from the small village they’ve happened across. It's one of the few places they've encountered so far that isn't under some form of control. 

Rex's eyes are distant as he watches the locals go about their business, the dark circles under them pronounced against his sallow skin. His hair is getting long again -- the dark strands form a chaotic thatch of wavy curls. Ahsoka can't help but find the look unnerving, as each day that passes makes him look more and more like every other clone and less like _Rex_. She wants to say something, but can't find the words.

_Hey, Rex. I get that we're on the run right now….but do you think you could do something about your hair? I know you're a clone and that you really can't help it, but you're looking a bit too much like Jesse without the tattoos, or Fives without the attitude, or any other clone trying to kill me right now..._

Yeah, right. 

"Hair’s getting long again," she comments, gazing over the valley before them.

Rex grunts.

Ahsoka doesn't say anything else. Rex has been unusually quiet the last few days and prone to sharp comments and a generally foul mood. Ahsoka doesn't blame him, not given the situation they're in or the trauma they've experienced, but it does leave her feeling like she's walking on eggshells. She misses their easy comradery, their comfortable silences. Everything feels brittle and broken now and she doesn't know how to fix it.

\--

"You have that blaster I let you borrow?"

Ahsoka looks over at Rex from the supplies she is inventorying. They're still on the same planet, but as the days tick by, they know they're going to have to take off again soon. The state of their inventory will give them a better idea of when that will be.

"Yeah, why?"

"You know how to shoot it?" He asks, setting down the datapad he's using to keep track of the supply count. 

She shrugs. "More or less. I didn't get too much practice with one, though. I always preferred my sabers."

"But you're not carrying yours anymore."

"Nope."

"Well, you need to learn to be a better shot, then." He turns to leave the ship and Ahsoka stares after him incredulously.

"What, now?"

"Why not?" He says over his shoulder. "The supplies will keep. You might not, though, if something comes up." 

Ahsoka looks at the box of spare parts she had been sorting through and sighs. "Fine," she calls after him, "let me go grab it."

She quickly retrieves the blaster from next to her cot and jogs down the ramp with it in hand. The pistol's grip feels foreign and oddly heavy compared to the comfortable weight of her lightsaber hilts. Her thoughts drift as she passes her free hand over the now-familiar shapes of the weapon. She knows Rex is right and that she needs to be able to defend herself without the use of her lightsabers. It just doesn't _feel_ right. She'd rather not have to fight at all anymore if she's being honest with herself. She's tired of fighting.

The sound of blaster fire startles her from her thoughts. Reacting on instinct, she bolts around the side of the ship to where the sound had come from.

She has the blaster up and ready to take aim before she even has a chance to process what's going on. When she does, she stumbles to a halt, heart racing rapidly. Rex is facing one of the stands of trees around the clearing they're in, gun raised. He's pointing it at something he had obviously put up on the trunk of a tree to use as target practice.

Ahsoka bends over and puts her hands on her knees in an attempt to slow her breathing and heart rate. "A little _warning_ next time, please, before you start target practice?" She yells at him. "It'd be greatly appreciated." She realizes it's the first time she's heard blaster fire that close since Order 66. 

_Fuck_.

"Sorry, Ahsoka. I didn't think…" Rex must have had a similar thought, because when she looks up at him, he's moved closer to her and his expression is one of chagrin.

"It's fine. You just...scared the hell out of me." Straightening up, she tries to put on a brave face. "Okay, let's do this."

Rex's eyes search hers for a moment, but he doesn't question her. He nods and then jerks his head in the direction of where he had been previously standing.

"We'll start with your stance, first," he says as he gets in position. "Since you're left handed, you're going to want to…."

The sound of Rex's voice fades to a murmur in the background as Ahsoka continues to fight down her rising panic. The unexpected sound of blaster fire had already shocked her enough and now….

Now she's standing on the flight deck of the battle cruiser once more, confused and disoriented as the clone troopers, as _Rex_ , turn on her. There's no recognition in their eyes as they take aim and shoot at her with the intent to kill.

"Ahsoka?"

She shakes her head aggressively. This is _stupid_. It's just Rex here with her, trying to teach her how to defend herself without having to rely on her lightsabers. He's not shooting _at_ her. And even back on the ship when he _had_ been shooting at her, it wasn't really him, was it? So there's _no reason why_ \--

"Ahsoka!"

"I can't do this!" She gasps out. Opening her eyes, she's surprised to find herself looking straight into Rex's concerned gaze. His hand is resting on her shoulder in an attempt to steady her.

"You alright?" He asks, voice low. "You seemed to be somewhere else for a minute there."

"I…" Ahsoka swallows and shakes her head. "Yeah. I think the unexpected blast shook me more than I thought." She pulls away from his touch, unable to look him in the eye anymore. "I think you'll have to try teaching me again another time."

"Yeah, okay." 

She can't tell from the sound of his voice if he's upset with her or not, but she can't bring herself to look at him to check. "Sorry," she mumbles, before turning to walk briskly back to the ship.

\---

Later that day, as the suns are setting and their small campfire flickers blue and green from the chemicals in the native bark, Rex starts cleaning each piece of his armor. As with everything he does, he is careful and methodical with his task, starting with his shin-guards and working his way up, piece by piece, before setting them aside. 

It isn't a common routine anymore, but one they both find soothing. The soft sounds the strokes of the cloth make against the metal; the smell of the cheap polish he has managed to find; the rhythmic motions of wiping the cleaner on, working it into the metal, and then off again. 

It is a rare thing for them to not only have a moment to breathe, but also feel safe enough to do so, and they both relax as Rex moves through the routine. It's a relief, being able to relax. Especially after the fiasco with the blasters earlier. Ahsoka still feels a bit mortified at her reaction, but she's trying to shrug it off.

She is staring up at the foreign night sky to see if she can identify any familiar constellations, when she feels an abrupt shift in the air around them.

It leaves her breathless at first, and if it wasn't for the continued peaceful quiet around them and the lack of sensory input from her montrals, Ahsoka would be in motion and scanning for an attack. As it is, absolutely nothing has changed. 

Except for the addition of an invisible weight now smothering her. It takes her a moment to realize what's happening as she tries to keep her panic at bay for the second time that day.

Ever since that moment on the ship’s bridge when she was nearly overwhelmed by the terror and rage and hate flowing through the Force, she's made it a point to keep herself shut off from it as much as possible. And even when she wasn't actively keeping it at bay, she never intentionally pried into the emotions or thoughts of others. 

It's a shock, then, to suddenly be privy to Rex's, even if she can't distinguish what he's actually feeling.

She sits up quickly, body tense and alert as she looks over at Rex. He's still sitting by the fire, now stripped down to his undershirt and pants, his helmet in hand.

"Rex?" She asks tentatively, watching his normally rock-steady hands tremble minutely as he holds his helmet. He's looking straight into the visor.

She's about to get up when he speaks, his voice and breaths jagged. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Ahsoka hesitates, unsure what he means. "Tell you...what?"

"How much I look like them."

She knows immediately what he means now, despite the seemingly obvious answer to his statement. Of course he looks like _them_ ; they were all genetically the same. 

But they _weren't_ the same. None of them were -- not where it counted. Fives and Cody and Tup. Jesse. Echo and Hardcase. Every other clone in existence. Each was their own unique being with a distinct personality, their own likes, dislikes and wants. Each one had found a way to make themselves stand apart, whether it was through their spoken bravado, the tattoos on their skin, or the way they cut and colored their hair.

"I- I didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure…. wasn't sure if that was what you wanted."

His fingers flex, the tremor in his hands growing more pronounced. Ahsoka shifts to her feet and quietly pads over to him.

"I don't. I don't know what I wanted. What I _want_. I thought….I thought it wouldn't matter. The color of my hair, I mean." He looks up at her, and her heart clutches at the lost look in his eyes. He looks terribly young in that moment _. "Why does it matter?_ " he continues, his voice cracking. "It shouldn't. But I can't...I can't look at myself and not see _them_. Not when I look like this." 

He gestures roughly at his helmet's visor before threading his fingers through his dark hair and giving it a sharp tug. "I don't know who I am anymore, Ahsoka. I look at myself and I don't see _me_. And it’s not because of my hair." He looks up at her again, and his eyes are brimming with tears. "Who am I? Without a war, without direction…who am I?" 

Feeling her own eyes fill with tears, she steps in front of Rex and gently removes the helmet from his unprotesting hand before disentangling his other from his hair. She then places a hand on his damp cheek, like she almost did what now feels like eons ago, and meets his eyes steadily.

"You are Rex. The best soldier I've ever met and probably ever will. You are a clone," she continues, "one of the millions of men born into a war you had no say in. But you are also _you_." She swallows harshly and a tear slides down her cheek. Rex shuts his eyes tight as his breath hitches slightly. "You are unique, and special, and enough just as you are. You are strong, and just, and loyal, and one of my very best friends. And," her voice cracks, "I'm so glad to know _you_." 

Rex leans into her then, his head pressed into her torso, his arms around her waist. He doesn't make much noise as he cries; instead, his body shakes with the intensity of each silent sob. 

He stops shaking, eventually, but he doesn't move away from her. She continues to hold him, wishing she could ease his pain.

Rex's fingers dig into her clothing at her back and she feels a shudder go through him. "I miss them," he says brokenly. "I miss them so--" his breath hitches again as he chokes down another sob. "So much."

"I know, Rex," she says softly. "I know. I miss them too. I'm so sorry." She lets her own tears fall and cradles his head to her. Gently, she runs her fingers through his hair.

For a brief moment, Ahsoka is able to tell a few of Rex's emotions apart from the overwhelming tangle still wrapping around her. Grief. Loss. Confusion. Those she can make sense of. Threading through them is fear, which she can understand. And in the center of it all: shame. It's an ugly, pulsating thing, one she can't understand. 

Was he ashamed of missing his brothers? Of his tears? Unthinking, she reaches out with the Force, only wanting to comfort and soothe. 

Rex pulls back from her touch so fast that by the time she realizes what's happened, he's already circling around to the other side of the fire. She blinks, startled, and turns to him, a question on the tip of her tongue. It dies there, forgotten and unsaid, when she sees the hurt expression on his tear-stained face.

Hand once again fisted in his hair, he shakes his head. "What the fuck was that? What did you just _do?_ " He asks, voice ragged, his accent thicker than normal.

Ahsoka stares at him. "I don't --"

"You were in my _head._ Stay the fuck _out!"_

"I wasn't--"

"I _felt_ you in there, prodding at my emotions. Influencing them. Why would you _do_ that?" His voice cracks with betrayal.

Knowing she completely misstepped somewhere but having known idea why, Ahsoka scrambles to try and explain. "I didn't mean to! I only wanted to help--"

"My emotions aren't yours to control!" he shouts. 

She freezes, mouth parted. Rex's chest is heaving and he drags the hand that was clutching at his hair down over his face. 

"I thought," he says, quieter, "that even if my life and actions weren't my own, I would at least have my emotions." He sighs and drops his hand, refusing to look at her. Instead, he stares up at the darkening sky. Ahsoka's blood runs cold with trepidation. "Apparently us Clones can't even have that."

"Rex, I wouldn't… your emotions _are_ yours. I'd never want to control them." She takes a step towards him but immediately comes to a stop as he moves away. Heart breaking, she says quietly, "I only meant to help…"

"Maybe that's the case, but it didn't feel like that up here." He taps at his skull. "It felt like I wasn't going to be given a choice. Do you know what that feels like?" He looks at her for a second before he breaks eye contact again. His voice is hushed and strained as he continues, "When I heard the Order, I tried fighting it. _I tried._ But I felt like a means to an end. That nothing I wanted or felt _mattered_. And they _didn't_ matter. _I_ didn't." He falls silent then, head down turned and hands clenched into fists. Without his armor on, he looks far too vulnerable as he stands there, illuminated by the light of the fire.

A creeping horror crawls over Ahsoka as she quickly puts two and two together. The moment he had heard the order, Rex had completely lost all autonomy. He'd been used -- _violated --_ by Darth Sideous and the brain chip. And she had unthinkingly tried to influence his emotions, as though she had a say in what he feels. Hands shaking, she backs up until her legs hit the log she had been sitting on earlier. She sits down and stares into the fire.

The evening is quiet around them but for the crackling flames and the calls of nocturnal creatures beginning to stir. She knows she needs to say something, but she doesn't think there's anything she _can_ say. She's always been able to solve her problems with weapons or the Force, her quick wit. But none of that is of any help to her here, and certainly isn't what Rex needs. She doesn't _know_ what Rex needs, and she feels utterly useless because of it. Especially considering the fact that she has inadvertently contributed to his pain. She feels like she's going to be sick.

"Rex…" she starts, distantly surprised at the rough sound of her own voice. "I am _so_ sor--"

"Save it, Commander." Rex shakes his head, though he still won't look at her. "Just... don't. Not right now." 

Ahsoka watches him edge back around the fire to collect his armor. She doesn't dare offer to help and instead focuses on shoving down the ever growing wave of panic. A whimper escapes her as he makes his way back to the ship and enters it, closing the hatch behind him.

Feeling horrified and more alone than she has in a very long time, she drops her head into her hands and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't hate me?


	7. Ulur: (v) Care, to take notice of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait guys. This semester is really kicking my ass...and then I went and broke my foot a month ago. I've been doing a lot of sleeping and many hours of homework and lectures every week and it's been really hard to find time and energy to write.
> 
> BUT. I told myself that I would have up through chapter 5 and the 3rd interlude posted before the start of season two. And guess who has both of those chapters done and ready to post?! Interlude 3 will be going up on Thursday! Because of the lack of time and energy however, either chapter will have the fancy linked translations--they take far too much work for me to deal with right now. Sorry about that!
> 
> If any of you have read my other Mando series, you'll recognize the OC in this chapter. I couldn't resist bringing her into this AU, too.
> 
> Huge thanks to Itsagoodthing, Lia, and Izzy for the beta reads! You guys rock <3

ABY 9, Summer

\----------------------------

Din rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly before running his hand through his hair. He needs to cut it but he can't bring himself to bother right now. Not with everything else going on. He sighs heavily and looks out the viewscreen in front of him. The streaking lights of hyperspace are mesmerizing to watch and he lets himself be soothed by them for a time.

They're on their way to an almost no-name star system that he remembers stopping in once during a bounty hunt. A small city on one of the icy moons has a decent trading post and he should be able to stock up on a few much needed provisions there while he lies low for a time.

He slowly rolls his aching shoulder and grimaces at the stab of pain that shoots down his arm and into his fingers. He'd definitely done more than simply dislocated his shoulder--it's likely he tore the rotator cuff, too. The knowledge isn't particularly useful or comforting as there isn't exactly anything he can do about it right now.

Rubbing his thumb idly over the top of his helmet where it rests on the control console, Din considers their next steps.

They'll keep quiet on Cavao for a while to hopefully throw off any tail they might have. He figures they could probably system hop like that a few times before he'll need to buckle down and get searching for the kid's own kind. His stomach churns at the prospect and he shoves the emotion aside to deal with later. Right now he needs to--

A noise from behind him causes him to freeze.

_Osik,_ Din curses. He can't believe he was so distracted as to not hear the Child approach. How had the little womp rat even gotten up the ladder? Not that it matters at this point. He has his helmet off and the kid has seen him. Part of him wants to turn around and meet the Child's eyes unimpeded, wants him to see his smile and for the kid to smile back. Except he can't. He's frozen where he stands and can't bring himself to turn around. 

"Ehhh?" The Child's soft coo is inquisitive and Din can imagine the look on his face: head tilted slightly, ears perked up, eyes wide. 

He swallows. "Hey, kid? Stay where you are." There's a tremor in his voice and he grimaces as it goes unfiltered without his helmet on; he can't tell if the swooping sensation in his gut is anticipation or panic. He sits in the pilot seat, careful to keep his head turned away from the Child.

"Ewuaaah!" 

Din closes his eyes and breathes deeply. The Child is _his_ _ad --_ there's nothing in the Creed specifically forbidding him from taking the helmet off around his own child. Really, there's nothing there officially requiring the helmet stay on at all times, _period._ The mandate forbidding the removal of helmets around anyone that isn't clan or tribe had been put in place as a protective measure when he was a boy. His insistence on not removing his helmet _at all_ had been his choice out of both comfort and necessity.

The Child whines softly, bringing Din momentarily out of his thoughts. He nearly turns toward the kid to check on him before he remembers he still hasn't put his helmet back on. He grabs it off the console and shoves it back on, letting out a long sigh at the hissing sound of the automatic seal. 

When he looks around for the kid, he spots him standing at the base of the chair that holds his box-seat. Long ears droop as he fiddles with the sleeve of his robes and Din inexplicably feels like he's disappointed the Child. 

"What?"

The Child coos at him and raises his hands to be picked up. 

Din sighs and turns his chair slightly to the side. "Com'ere."

The kid chirps and toddles close enough for Din to snag the collar of his robes and haul him up. The Child giggles and taps Din's cuirass as he places him on his lap.

"Brrrrt," he says, reaching up towards Din's helmeted face. "Awwfff?" 

Din grabs his little clawed hands and holds them. Maybe he _can_ take his helmet off for his _ad._ His _buir_ would understand -- would likely be elated, actually. She always removed her helmet when it was just the two of them and he knows his choice to keep his helmet in place had likely broken her heart. He doesn't want to do the same to the Child's.

"Okay," he says, decision made. "Okay." The Child's ears perk up as Din let's go of his hands to reach up to his helmet. He thumbs the release button and he lets out a long breath in time with the pneumatic hiss. Looking into the eyes of the Child, he places his hands on either side of the helmet and begins to raise it up.

Panic hits him at the dual sensation of cool, circulated air hitting his neck just above his shirt collar and the sound of the Child murmuring to himself. He freezes, his hands shaking minutely.

" _Ni ceta, adi'ka. Ni ne'liser,"_ he mumbles, sliding the helmet back down. _"Ni ceta."_

The Child whines and tilts his head, tapping at Din's chest. Din reaches out to stroke one long, lowered ear, his chest tight with a complex mixture of guilt and unease. It has been far too long since he's had the helmet off for someone else. Maybe it's something he can no longer do; eye contact had been hard enough as a kid but it's been over two decades since he's had to make the effort. He's not sure it's something he can handle at all now, to say nothing of handling the flood of other sensory input that comes from removing his helmet. The thought fills him with disappointment and he shakes his head.

Passing his fingers along the length of the Child's ear one last time, he says, "One day, _ad'ika. Ori'haat._ "

\----

Their arrival on Cavao is uneventful. After gathering up the essentials -- his blaster and Amban rifle, the Child's blanket and one of the wooden toys Kuiil had carved -- Din pays the shipyard attendant to leave the Razor Crest docked for the next few days. He grudgingly lets the Child balance on his shoulder, conceding that it is easier on both his back and shoulder than if he were to carry him at his hip. 

As he makes his way into the small city of Ninbadir, the Child coos and gurgles when they pass anything of interest, occasionally tapping his clawed hand on the side of Din's helmet. Din just sighs and keeps his eyes open for a lodge of some sort where they can stay.

The city is made up of an eclectic mix of building architecture, the materials ranging from stone bricks to wood to anything in between. Din keeps an eye on the rooftops as he makes his slow way down the cobbled road, wary of the possibility of hunters in the upper windows or hiding on the roofs. Despite their jumbled appearances, however, Din is relieved to note their roofs are all steeply pitched.

The Child makes an excited _chirrup_ and taps at his helmet. Din ignores the insistent tapping, figuring it was no different from the previous times the kid had done it. At his lack of response, the Child burbles a few nonsense words before trying to maneuver himself off Din's shoulder.

Worried the kid will slip and fall, Din grabs at him with his good hand.

"Knock it off," he grumbles under his breath, shifting the squirming Child in his arms. The Child wiggles and makes a grasping motion in the direction of one of the colorful market stalls they are coming upon. Din raises an eyebrow at the stand of fruit before looking down at the Child. His long ears are perked far forward, the tips quivering. Din's not sure he's ever seen the kid so eager for something before.

Sighing as he starts making his way towards the stall, he can feel the kid practically vibrating in his arms.

Fruit. _Fresh_ fruit. It's not something he typically has available due to how much it costs and how it perishes too quickly. Is it something the Child needs in his diet? Had he been neglecting to feed him properly, albeit unknowingly? His mind races as he weaves through the crowd of locals shopping the market stands.

_Osik._ What else hasn't he been providing the kid? Proper food, apparently. Does he need new clothes? Should he have shoes of some kind? He cringes, thinking about the single scrappy blanket and toy he has stashed in his kit. Even the foundlings of the Covert had more than that, despite the tribe's isolation and frugality. 

Once at the stall, he holds the Child up so he can look over the boxes of bright red and yellow fruit. 

"Which one do you want?" He asks, feeling only slightly ridiculous for addressing a child too young to talk. The kid coos in response and looks over the assembled boxes.

"Can I get you anything?" 

Din looks up from the fruit to the shopkeeper -- a Quarren woman with dusky purple skin -- and clears his throat. "Just one of whatever he wants," he says, dipping his head in the direction of the Child.

The Quarren looks at the kid and her eyes crinkle at the edges from what Din can only assume is a smile. "Which one would you like?" She asks him seriously. 

The Child is silent for a moment before gesturing at one of the bright yellow ones.

"A good choice," the shopkeeper says, gently picking up one of the fruits. She wraps it up and puts it in a small bag, quoting the cost to Din as she does so. 

Din cringes inwardly as he hands over the credits, but feels slightly better at the sight of the Child holding the bagged fruit closely.

"Thank you! Have a good day," the shopkeeper says. Din simply nods in return and makes his way back to the main street.

As he scans the building fronts looking for a lodge, it occurs to him that he should have asked the Quarren for directions to a place to stay. He sighs tiredly, aches and pains that he had been able to keep at bay while in the confines of his ship flaring up and throbbing the longer he walks.

Better food. Proper clothing. Toys. All things he needs to get for the kid -- and very little money with which to do it.

The Child squirms in his arms and he grabs the bagged fruit before the kid has a chance to drop it as he tries to get back onto his shoulders. 

_Something to carry the kid in_ , Din adds to his mental list after making sure the kid is settled. Putting the fruit in his kit, he recalls the _birikad_ the Mandalorian _buire_ used to carry the younger foundlings in. They were sturdy, useful things and could be worn across the chest or back. He's not exactly sure how they were made but he figures he'll be able to figure something out in the next few days.

His shoulders sag slightly as the walking begins to take its toll on him. He's beginning to suspect he's passed a lodge already and he dreads the walk back down the market street. Heaving a silent, weary sigh, he starts to turn on his heel when a shop stall catches his eye. It's small but brightly colored, and Din can make out more than a few younglings looking at the stall's contents. He makes out the forms of rounded, soft looking toys. 

The Child burbles inquisitively from his place on his shoulder and tries to climb back down into Din's arms. Din grabs the Child so he can hold him properly again. Looking down at him, the kid has his head tilted slightly to the side. Din holds back another sigh and, pushing away the now familiar feeling of incompetence, makes his way to the stand.

As he approaches, the Child turns in his arms, his eyes going wide as he takes in the soft dolls. 

"You can pick a small one," Din murmurs. He might have to find a quick job while he's here, but the Child's wonderous gaze makes it worth it. 

Looking over the choices himself, he recalls the small stuffed strill he had growing up with a pang of nostalgia. If he remembers correctly, his _buir_ had made it for him on one of the occasions she wasn't immediately needed back on Mandalore. She'd spent hours on it -- mostly in silence, but occasionally talking to him or cursing when she'd stuck her fingertips with the needle. He had watched her quietly, wishing he could ask her to make him one but not being able to. 

When she finished, she sighed in accomplishment. Then she looked at him, told him to catch, and tossed the plush to him. He caught it, completely bewildered and overcome with emotion. He looked at the slightly misshapen creature, ran his fingertips over its seams, and promptly burst into tears. 

He hadn't been her foundling long, had just lost everything he had ever known, and the small gift had tipped him over the edge. His _buir_ was confused and alarmed, unsure what was wrong, and Din had scrambled over to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Din reflects that as she tentatively wrapped her arms around him while he continued to cry, that was the moment he realized he really had a new home. A new parent. That they were a clan of two.

And now that he's part of a clan of two once more, he doesn't know what to do. What if he could never give the Child that same feeling of _home_ that his _buir_ had given him? He's not even sure he can remember what that feels like. It's been years since he last felt like he had a place he could call home.

His thoughts race as he stares at the toys before him, his vision blurring until he can't make out their individual shapes. Distantly, he hears what might be the shopkeeper asking him something and the sounds of all the bustling people around him turn into a dull roar. The Child is squirming in his hold and babbling at him and he gets the distinctive feeling of someone stepping up close behind him--

Despite his fatigued state and aching body, Din reacts on instinct. He draws his blaster and shifts around so it points at the person who had snuck up behind him, careful to keep the Child as sheltered as possible by his own body. 

The shopkeeper behind him let's out a yelp. "Don't shoot! You'll get blood on the merchandise!"

Din ignores him in favor of assessing the Twi'lek woman before him. She's small but formidable in appearance, her bare arms wiry with muscle. She's older than him, probably by a few decades. Her dusky red skin is sun-worn and lined with the evidence of many years spent working long hours outside. She raises an eyebrow at him, causing the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth to deepen.

"Put that away, boy, before you hurt someone." Her voice is much deeper and raspier than her small frame would suggest and overlaid with a thick accent. Din can't hear any trace of anger or fear in her tone despite having a gun pointed at her. He's intrigued despite himself but doesn't lower his blaster.

"What do you want?" He growls.

"For you to quit pointin' that gun at me, for one." When he still refuses to put the blaster away, she rolls her eyes. "I came to see if you were alright. Heard the shopkeep hollerin' and your baby crying." At this, she leans around him to look at the Child on his opposite hip. "You were worried about your papa, weren't ya, li'l one?"

The Child coos in response, patting at Din's chestplate. He lowers the nose of his blaster reluctantly but doesn't reholster it. Straightening up and shifting the still cooing Child in his arms he asks, "Why do you care?" He ignores the complicated emotion that comes with being called the kid's _papa_.

The Twi'lek shrugs. "Not sure I do after you went and drew a weapon on me." She tilts her head to the side and regards him silently for a moment before looking again at the Child. The kid gurgles and his ears twitch; it's been a while since Din has heard him be so vocal. The woman smiles, causing her eyes to soften, and Din inexplicably feels like he can trust her.

Sighing, Din puts his blaster away and turns back towards the shop stand. He winces as his hips and lower back throb angrily, his shoulder and ribs echoing the sentiment. He looks over his shoulder at the Twi'lek, who is still watching him, hands on her hips.

"I'm fine," he says, grateful for his helmet negating the need for eye contact.

She snorts and moves forward to stand at his side. "Right. And I'm a Gungan."

They're silent for a moment, and Din relaxes slightly. He picks through a few of the toys for sale, showing them to the Child, who considers each one carefully before shaking his head. 

After the fifth one, Din huffs, "Which one do you want then?" 

The Child leans forward in his grip, arm outstretched in the direction of a particular toy towards the back. Din goes to grab it, hoping the Child refrains from using his powers before he can, but the woman beats him to it. She picks the doll up and hands it to him without comment.

"Thank you," Din says grudgingly. He turns to the Child and shows him the doll. "This one?" The kid reaches for the toy and Din gives it to him. 

Something in his chest aches oddly at the sight of the Child cuddling the doll; it's a simple thing, holding a rough likeness to that of a soldier in armor. It's generic enough that it could be a Mandalorian or a stormtrooper, maybe even a clone trooper.

He clears his throat and looks up at the shopkeeper, who's looking between the three of them like he can't decide if he wants their business or if he'd rather tell them to get the hell away from his stand. Din can't really say he blames him.

"We'll take this one," he says, gesturing at the Child's new toy.

He pulls out the credits he needs to pay and hopes he can find a place to stay that will let him pay by the night rather than all up front. He feels the eyes of the Twi'lek on him as he passes the credits over and thanks the shop owner.

As he expected, she follows him as he turns from the stall and continues his slow search for a lodge.

"So, Mando. You got a name?" 

He doesn't bother to respond, choosing instead to focus on taking one step after another.

"Fair enough," she says with a shrug. "Do you have a place to stay? You look dead on yer feet."

Din tenses and looks over at her but she's looking straight ahead rather than at him.

"Is there someplace you can recommend?"

"Sure, if ya don't mind paper thin walls and a bed to match. Or being price gouged somewhere only slightly better."

Din's heart sinks, but before he can say anything, she's already talking again. "Tell ya what, though. I have a spare room you're welcome to stay in, if you'd like. Won't even charge you more than the cost of food and utilities."

Din stops and stares at her back, dumbfounded. "Why? What do you _want_?"

She comes to a halt in front of him and looks over her shoulder. "How about some company? You tell me your story and I'll rent you my spare room. Deal?"

Din considers her for a long moment. He's tired, he hurts. He's close to broke. He and the Child both need a place to stay and her offer is as good as any. If it turns out to be a trap of some kind, well, it wouldn't be the first time someone's turned on him.

Besides, the Child seems enamoured with her--he hasn't taken his eyes off her since they left the toy stand.

"Fine."

"Wonderful. The name's Susdavi, by the way."

He tilts his head at her as he starts walking again. "Thank you, Susdavi." 

She grins and falls into step at his side. "I hope you don't mind the smell of fish."

\----

Din's not sure what he expected Susdavi's home to look like, exactly, but it certainly isn't what he's looking at now. 

It's on the outskirts of Ninbadir, not quite in the city proper, but not quite removed, either. Old and rickety looking, it's made of wood and stone. The upper stories seem to lean precariously to one side, the product of multiple build-ons. For the life of him, he doesn't know how it's still standing. 

Despite his helmet's filters, Din can still make out the distinctive smell of _fish_. It's not an _offensive_ smell, but it's definitely _strong._

Susdavi pauses for a moment, head tilted to the side. "It's not much," she says, "but it's home."

Din doesn't comment, too busy taking in the yard. Sturdy looking paddock fences section off parts of the land, and it's what's inside those paddock's that has his attention. 

He's normally too busy chasing his next bounty or being chased by something that wants to eat him to be able to appreciate the astounding diversity of life the galaxy has to offer. As he drifts his way from Susdavi to get a better look at the creatures she keeps, he's pretty sure he's never seen anything quite like these. 

They remind him a bit of orbaks, in a way, especially in their skull structure. They're smaller though, and stockier. Their hides are sleek and smooth rather than covered in a thick, shaggy coat and they range in color from deep teal to a striking frosty grey. They have dorsal fins that start at their shoulders and end at the tip of their long, fish-like tails. Most striking though are their muzzles: they end in six prehensile tentacles.

Din stands up to the fence and the Child coos curiously. One of the creatures turns and ambles towards them at the sound. Its gait is more like that of a strill than an orbak, and as it gets closer, he can make out the same sharp intelligence a strill has in its eyes. 

The Child giggles and reaches towards the creature from Din's arms. Careful to keep a hold on him, Din repositions the Child so he can rest his hands on the fence. Din watches warily as the creature cocks it's head to the side and raises two of its tentacles up.

"She's testing your scent."

Din tries not to react to the sound of Susdavi's voice, but it's a close call. He turns his head away from the creature to look at her.

"What are they?"

"Sogs. Short for _sogderik_." She crosses her arms and rests them on the top of the fence next to him. "We use them for travel and freight in Cavao's harsh winters."

Din looks back at the sog and pulls back slightly when he sees how close she has gotten -- her approach was soundless. The Child is burbling something too quiet for him to make out but the sog seems to be listening intently. She shakes her head once and raises her tentacles and slides them over the Child. Din doesn't have time to move the giggling kid away before she pulls back and flares her tentacles with a barking-chirp. 

Susdavi chuckles as the sog lowers her front half, her tail wagging behind her. 

"She likes your kid and wants to play with him."

Din grunts and wipes the drool off the still giggling Child with his cape.

"I'd rather he not get eaten or trampled."

Susdavi shrugs. "They're pretty much harmless. And much more aware of others around them than you might think."

Din just grunts again as he scoops the Child up from the fence. 

Susdavi rolls her eyes. "C'mon, let's get you two settled while I find us something to eat."

\--

She's knowledgeable and considerate enough to bring his food to their room without having to ask. He resigns himself to cold fish stew for the evening, but Susdavi surprises him yet again by offering to take the Child downstairs so he can eat.

Din hesitates but the Child wobbles over to her and doesn't protest when she picks him up. His ears are perked up and he's smiling at the face Susdavi is pulling at him. Figuring the Child to be a pretty good judge of character, Din nods. "Thank you."

She doesn't say anything to him as she takes the kid out of the room, choosing instead to pull more ridiculous faces at him.

Din inhales his food, both out of anxiety at having the Child out of his sight and in pure hunger; he's pretty sure his last full meal was what IG-11 and Kuiil had given him that night on Arvala-7.

He's weary down to his bones and his still-healing injuries ache and throb but he ignores the sensations and carries his bowl down to the main floor.

The inside of Susdavi's home is nothing like the outside -- it's full of rich colors and textures, the walls are painted and the floors polished and smooth. There are shelves of knicknacks and holopics, a vase of flowers on the dining table. The inside says _welcome_ and _comfort_ and _stability._

It makes his chest ache.

After putting his bowl in the kitchen sink, Din finds Susdavi sitting on her couch watching the Child. He's playing with what could only be a young sog. It's taller than the kid, perhaps slightly taller than Din's knee even, and its facial tentacles are short and stubby, as is its tail. 

Susdavi looks up at him, disapproval clear on her face. "Did you even taste it?" 

Din shrugs. "I did."

She rolls her eyes and goes back to watching the young ones play. "Your kid plays well with my pups -- he's very gentle." At Din's silence, she asks, "Does the kid have a name?"

"...No," he says, sighing. "I…haven't had him long. He's just _kid_ or _the Child._ Sometimes he's _adi'ka,_ or little one _._ "

Susdavi _tsks._ "Every child needs a name."

Din chews on his lip. She's more or less a stranger to him and he doesn't owe her an explanation for anything. However, she's knowledgeable enough about his culture to know he wouldn't eat around her; perhaps she will not offer any judgement here, either.

He sighs and walks over to a chair, lowering himself into it. Instead of looking at Susdavi, he watches the Child yawn and plop tiredly to the ground. The sog pup lays down next to him, its head on its clawed paws. 

Finally, he says, "They do. But names are sacred to my people. There is a...a _weight_ to them." He struggles to find the words he needs to convey this properly. "The act of adopting is _kir'manir_ \-- to give a soul to someone. The ceremony itself is called _gai bal manda._ Name and soul. A child whose name is known receives their name in the voice of their new _buir_ and that of the clan they are being adopted into. For a child too young to speak and whose name is unknown, they're given a new name. Our names connect us to the _manda,_ the collective soul and to our people _._ " 

He falls quiet, both out of words and weary. He doesn't say he hasn't yet adopted the Child -- he's certain she's sharp enough to figure that out on her own. He glances up to see what she's doing and finds her looking at him shrewdly.

"How long have you been limping and favoring your arm?"

Din blinks at the non-sequitur. "Excuse me?"

She gestures at him. "Your limp and arm, boy. What did you do?"

Still thrown by the abrupt topic change, he doesn't know what to say. He thought he had been hiding his injuries well enough and finds it quite unsettling that she has been able to see straight to his vulnerabilities.

Seemingly able to sense his unease, the old Twi'lek sighs and stands up. While walking over to a storage chest on the other side of the room she says, "Relax. It's not somethin' most people would have noticed. I was a doctor on Ryloth in my youth-- ended up a field medic during the blockade of my homeworld in the early years of the Clone Wars." She rummages around in the chest and pulls back with her arms full of medical supplies. "Later, I was a medic for the Rebellion. Helped anyone I came across that required assistance." 

She stands before him and eyes him critically. Din feels unnervingly _bare_ , as though he weren't wearing his armor at all. She _tsks_ at him again.

"Happened across my fair share of Mandalorians, back then. A handful of groups on the run from the Empire." She jerks her head at his helmet. "Learned the hard way not to touch a mando's helmet, even if it's to provide medical assistance." She raises a sardonic eyebrow and Din is forcefully reminded of being chastised by his _buir_. "So, are ya going to tell me what happened or am I gonna to have to guess?"

"Fine," Din grunts. There's no point in arguing with her and he _does_ need to care for his injuries properly. "Threw out my shoulder in a fight. I got it back in place but I think I tore something. Busted a rib or two. Pulled something in my lower back that's causing problems with my legs." He rubs at his thighs self-consciously, unused to spelling out his injuries so plainly.

By Susdavi's expression, she is completely unimpressed with him. Shaking her head, she starts passing him medical equipment. "While you are under my roof, I expect you to wear a sling for your arm, ya hear?" He nods, something telling him not to argue with her. "I suspect I already know the answer, but would you consider wearing a brace for your back as well?"

He immediately shakes his head. "It's impractical and would impede my movements should I need to grab the kid quickly."

"I figured," she sighs. "Fine. You are to clean yourself up--" at this, she passes him a few tubes of bacta and some anti-pain stims--"and then properly dress whatever wounds and bruises you have under all that armor. You will wear that sling. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am." He pauses as something occurs to him. "And my ribs?"

She shrugs. "Nothin' to be done but take it easy. You'd be a fool to wrap them."

Din nods absently while looking around for the Child; he's been conspicuously quiet for a while now. He finds him curled up on the floor where he last saw him, except now he's snuggled between two sog pups. The ache from earlier returns to his chest at the sight and it's not from his ribs.

"I'll keep an eye on the runt," Susdavi says, her voice softer. "Now get moving."

As he makes his slow way back up the stairs towards the bathroom, Din can't help but wonder at his continued run-ins with old, no-nonsense beings with sharp tongues and kind hearts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Translations**  
>  \------------------  
> Osik -- _shit_  
>  Ad -- _child, kid_  
>  Buir -- _parent, mother_  
>  Ni ceta, adi'ka. Ni ne'liser -- _I'm sorry, little one. I can't._  
>  Ad'ika -- _little one_  
>  Ori-haat - _I swear_  
>  Birikad -- _baby carrying harness_  
>  Strill -- _A creature native to Mandalore that vaguely resembles a dog. Six legs, sharp teeth. 4 eyes. Very loyal and very protective of children_


	8. Interlude: Ahsoka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been working on this chapter since June and it is the entire reason why I ended up expanding this fic. I am SO excited to FINALLY be sharing this -- it's been so hard to keep certain things secret.
> 
> Huge thanks to Kata for the beta reading and suggesting the expansion. Many thanks to Lia for letting me yell in her DMs and for helping me through this chapter.

BBY 19, Autumn

\----------------------------

Ahsoka takes a deep breath of fresh Concordian air, more than happy to be off the small ship they had managed to obtain. While it was quite a bit larger than their first ship, nothing quite beat getting planetside from time to time.

Rex follows shortly after, already scanning their surroundings, his hand on his blaster. She too looks around the clearing they had landed in, taking in the modest structures on the other side and the handful of Mandalorians going about their business. 

She glances at Rex as he comes up alongside her, his blue and white armor glinting dully in the waning light. Despite her slip up with the Force being weeks ago, things are still tense between them. They've both returned to fitful sleep plagued by nightmares each night, and any casual touching has completely stopped between them. She's never felt so lonely while in the company of another before and she knows she only has herself to blame.

Uncomfortable, her fingers twitch with the urge to grab the hilt of her shoto blade, but she still hasn't been able to bring herself to carry it. Frustrated, she flexes her fingers and shoves the now persistent ache aside.

"Ahsoka Tano. Commander Rex. Welcome." The voice cuts through her thoughts and she relaxes, grateful for the interruption. The two of them turn to face the speaker.

"Thank you," she says, tilting her head in a respectful nod at the warrior making his way closer to them. He's in full armor, the metal painted a deep blue-grey like the color of the sky just before the break of dawn.

He nods back. "Lady Bo-Katan is waiting for you. If you will follow me, I will take you to her." With that, he turns back around and begins to walk away. 

Rex looks at her and raises an eyebrow. She shrugs in response and begins to follow their escort, Rex a few steps behind her.

\--

They're taken through the clearing to a small building no different from any of the others. She can't decide if they are in a small town or a permanent military base, and wonders if there is even a difference for this particular group of Mandalorians. Their escort stops them a few paces away from the front door and taps something on his vambrace. Not long after, the door opens to reveal Bo-Katan holding her helmet; a small boy stands at her side. 

Ahsoka tilts her head as she watches the Regent of Mandalore crouch down to talk to the boy. Ducking his head, his dark wavy hair falls over his eyes and he nods. Bo-Katan says something to him and he looks around her at Ahsoka and Rex and then back to Bo-Katan, shaking his head this time. Bo-Katan appears to say something else and gets another head shake. She stands back up and takes the boy's hand before turning around and approaching them.

"Ahsoka. Rex. It's good to see you again," she greets them, her voice as solemn as usual. "Thank you, Pelno, that will be all," she says to the escort.

After he gives a curt nod and walks away, she turns back to them. "It was a relief to receive your comm. I wasn't sure if you had made it through...well," she trails off with a glance at Rex, her eyes moving critically over his face and armor. 

Rex shifts uncomfortably, his chin raising ever so slightly.

"It was rough going for a time, that's for sure," Ahsoka says quickly, unsure how to proceed. 

"Bit of an understatement, that," Rex mutters and Bo-Katan raises an eyebrow at him.

"Did Kenobi or Skywalker…?" she starts to ask but hesitates again. 

Ahsoka shakes her head and shrugs. "It's...I don't know. It's hard to say." The Force still ripples darkly with the screams of the massacred Jedi and Ahsoka hasn't had the nerve to sift through it all to see who's still alive. She's not sure she ever will, especially since she's had her mind as strongly warded as she can against the Force since the event with Rex.

The three fall silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

A soft sniffle draws Ahsoka's attention away from the conversation at hand and she remembers the little boy that had followed Bo-Katan out. He has been so quiet that she had forgotten he was there. She looks down at where he stands close to Bo-Katan and smiles softly at him. He stares back at her with wide eyes for a second before looking aside. He bites at his thumbnail and shuffles slightly behind Bo, who looks down at him with a very soft expression on her face; Ahsoka is certain she's never seen the stern warrior so unguarded before. 

She looks up at Bo-Katan. “Who’s this?” 

Bo-Katan places her hand on the boy’s head. "This is my foundling, Din." She gently runs her fingers through his mass of curly hair. "Go on, say hello." Din shakes his head and moves further behind her. Bo-Katan looks up at Ahsoka and Rex, shrugging. "He… hasn't said much since he was rescued from a Separatist attack. But I think he’ll come around; I heard how brave he was, taking the hand of the Mandalorion who found him despite the battle still going on around them." 

Ahsoka is about to say something in response when Rex surprises her. He moves a step forward and drops down on one knee. He's closer to Din's height now and the kid glances at him from beneath his dark hair, slowly removing his thumb from his mouth.

"Hey, kid," Rex says, voice quiet and rough. 

Ahsoka blinks at his soft tone and watches as Din hesitantly uncurls his fingers and gives a small wave.

"It's probably his armor," Bo-Katan says to her quietly. "It looks a lot like that of a Mandalorian."

Ahsoka nods contemplatively, watching the interaction continue.

"What say we go hang out for a minute and let your mother and my friend talk, hm?"

Din stares at him a moment, his face entirely too serious for one so young, before looking questioningly up to Bo-Katan. She brushes the hair from his eyes and gives him a nod.

"Go with Rex, Din. And," she says as she shifts her hold on her helmet and offers it to him, "could you look after this for me?"

Din's dark eyes grow wide and he looks from the helmet to Bo-Katan and back before hesitantly reaching for the helmet. 

Rex stands with a small groan and rubs his lower back before extending his hand to Din. "C’'mon," he says. "You can show me your favourite spot to hang out." 

Slowly, Din releases Bo-Katan's hand and places his own hand in Rex's much larger one. 

Rex encourages the boy with a jerk of his head and a raised eyebrow.

Din ducks his head but hesitates for only a moment before giving Rex's hand a tug. He leads him towards a stand of trees a distance away.

“So,” Ahsoka begins, feeling a bit awkward with just the two of them now. “How are things on Mandalore?”

Bo-Katan grimaces. “We lost many good warriors during the Siege. On both sides. Darth Maul had to be removed from power but....I don’t think I was ready for the losses we faced. Or the ramifications of fighting _vod’e_ we served alongside not months before.” She pauses for a moment, tilting her head in contemplation as she watches her foundling and the clone. She shoots Ahsoka a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Though I suppose,” she continues, “you and he might know something of what that’s like.”

Ahsoka had always admired Bo’s skills of observation but she really didn’t like it when they were turned on her. She rubs at her neck and mumbles, voice tense, “Yeah, something like that.” 

She lets out a long breath of relief when Bo simply hums and shifts the conversation. “What’s left of the clones after the Siege and subsequent massacre of the Jedi have started to reorganize themselves, it seems. And there are more of them arriving everyday.”

“They’re calling themselves Storm Troopers, now,” Ahsoka says. She closes her eyes as her chest blooms with the now familiar, painful ache at the thought of the Jedi and the clones and Order 66.

“Right,” Bo-Katan says quietly. “Well. It seems that this new empire plans on occupying Sundari and the rest of Mandalore. I’ve heard from leaders of the other major cities that they, too, are receiving an influx of these troops. Even those who hadn’t seen themselves playing host to the Republic.”

“This new ‘Galactic Empire’ definitely seems to move fast…”

“Indeed. It’s why I asked you two to meet here on Concordia. What remains of Death Watch and a number of my Night Owls have been keeping a low enough profile here that the moon remains unoccupied by the Empire for the time being.”

Bo-Katan sighs and shakes her head. She looks very tired. Older. Like the events of the last few weeks have aged her decades. She supposes the last few weeks have aged _everyone_ in such a way.

“To be honest, Ahsoka,” Bo-Katan says quietly, “I’m not sure what my future as Regent--let alone _Mand’alor--_ is going to look like. I fear it’s tenuous, at best.” She crosses her arms over her chest and bites at her lip, her brows furrowed. She looks towards Din and Rex. “I can’t comply with this new empire. My people are only just starting to regain the culture and identity my sister’s rule sought to eradicate, and that Maul nearly destroyed for his own ends. If I follow this new galactic power -- if I give in to their demands for complaisance and assimilation -- we’re going to lose ourselves all over again. And I don’t think we could come back from something like that a third time.”

Ahsoka shifts, unsure how to respond. When others had confessed similar doubts to her in the past, she told them to have hope, that the Republic would aid them or that things would work out. But now....now she just feels lost. What can she say to something like this, now? 

Everything is broken and wrong.

Luckily for her, Bo-Katan doesn't seem to expect a response, choosing instead to focus her attention once more on Ahsoka. "I'm assuming you two reached out to me for a particular reason beyond pleasantries and a confirmation of survival," she says, raising an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

"I-we-" Ahsoka starts, a little thrown by the woman's blunt approach. Shifting her weight slightly, Ahsoka looks directly at Bo-Katan. "We're running low on supplies. Rex wasn't exactly... _paid_ for his services, and I had already been running low on credits when you found me in the undercities of Coruscant. We had need of a better ship not long after the Order and it took most of what little money we had. So we were hoping," she says, losing a little of her confidence as Bo-Katan continues to observe her, "that we could either pick up some supplies from you or stay here." When Bo-Katan doesn't immediately react, she rushes on to add, "Only for a while, though, of course." She fiddles with one of her wrist bracers, doing all she can to not give into the urge to look away.

"Hmm," Bo-Katan hums. "You haven't been followed by anyone, have you?"

Ahsoka shakes her head. "Not that we know of, no."

"Then I don't see the problem with you staying here. Though, it will have to be _here,_ not Sundari."

"Probably for the best," Ahsoka agrees. She looks around the tall trees and small village and smiles. "I don't think there will be a problem with that at all, actually."

"Good. We'll figure out how to get you two earning some credits so you can get supplies and leave when you need to. As I said, I don't know what things are going to look like from here on out."

Ahsoka nods and the two sit in companionable silence for a while. Her thoughts drift from the conversation as she goes back to watching Rex and the little boy. 

Rex is pretending to put Bo-Katan's helmet on, his movements getting more exaggerated as the slightly too small helmet refuses to go over his head. Din smiles tentatively and lets out a small, silent giggle before reaching out to Rex. He makes a grabbing motion with his fingers and Rex passes him the helmet, shaking his head. 

Din eagerly takes it and puts it on, the helmet going over his head easily and looking comically large. Rex huffs a laugh when Din turns his head, causing the helmet to wobble back and forth. When Rex says something again, Din takes the helmet off and moves to pass it over. Rex shakes his head solemnly and refuses to take back the helmet, pointing instead at Din's head. The boy's small smile morphs into a grin before he shoves it back on.

"Rex is good with him," Bo-Katan says, wistful. "I can count the number of times I've seen that boy smile on one hand since he's been here, and yet Rex has already got him laughing."

Ahsoka is a bit surprised at Rex's behavior herself. He's been so very withdrawn lately that she had begun to wonder if she would ever see him smile again. She refrains from commenting, however, and instead asks, "How long has he been here?"

"Only a few months. His village was one of the first we helped after splitting from Kyr'tsad. We hadn't even had a chance to repaint our armor yet."

They both watch as Rex grabs a fallen stick and begins drawing in the dirt. Din sits next to him, his own stick in hand, and scratches something next to what Rex had put down.

"Hm. I never considered you to be the mothering type," Ahsoka says offhandedly before clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That was rude."

Bo-Katan huffs a laugh and waves her off. "You and me both, honestly."

"So, what changed?" Ahsoka asks, tilting her head in curiosity.

"I'm not sure...When I first saw him, he was clearly in shock and covered in dust. We thought the shock was why he didn't speak, but he still hasn’t said anything. The only thing we've been able to get out of him is his name…. And I don't know -- the decision to adopt him just felt -- _Right_. So I never questioned it." She's quiet for a moment, her face shifting into a complicated expression before continuing. "I only wish," she says quietly, "that I had made peace with my sister. That she had been able to meet him." She sighs, and Ahsoka buries the impulse to offer a comforting touch, knowing it likely wouldn't be well-received. "Anyway," the Mandalorian says, clearing her throat, "It's good to see him smiling."

Ahsoka hums in agreement and can't help but think that the same sentiment can be applied to Rex, too. He had never been what she would consider a _cheery_ person, or even particularly outgoing, but over the last few weeks he had almost pulled back entirely until he was only a ghost of his past self. She thinks wistfully of his grin and laugh just as she had jumped out of the ship over Sundari, what felt like ages ago now. Was that a glimpse of who he _could_ have been, had he not lived under the burden of being a soldier his entire life? After the events of Order 66, she supposes she may never get to know the answer to that question.

If it had still been the first year or two of the war, she wouldn't have even considered these things. She would have assumed that he was fine, that he was handling it all in a mature, _adult_ way. Because the clones looked like adults, everyone treated him and every other clone trooper as such. The Jedi -- and everyone else -- had presumed the clones developed physically, mentally, and emotionally like any other human, just at an accelerated pace. But she's coming to learn that it was all lies and willful ignorance. The longer she is with Rex in non-combat situations -- where there are no commands to give or follow, where rank is meaningless -- the more she realizes just how flawed and broken that line of thinking was.

Really, Rex and all the other clones were _young._ Too young to be sent off to give their lives up to a war that had been nothing but a game of manipulation from the very start, just like her and the other padawans. Rex is one of the biologically older clones she had met, but even he is just a few years younger than she is. Little wonder then that he’d withdrawn as much as he has over the last few weeks.

She rubs at her collarbone as she continues watching Rex and Din sit at the roots of the big tree. They have moved on from stick doodles in the sand and the little boy now sits next to Rex, fiddling with something; Bo-Katan's helmet is forgotten on the ground. It takes her a second to realize that he’s braiding blades of grass together and that Rex is following along. Or, well, trying to. He keeps fumbling the delicate blades. Din leans down and picks the grass up and hands it to Rex, who dutifully starts again, watching Din's fingers deftly weave his own plant pieces together.

Something about the sight of Rex and Din mixes with her jumbled thoughts on youth and lost opportunities and creates a deep ache in her chest. In a way, it reminds her of nostalgia -- but instead of the warmth left behind by rose-tinted memories, all she feels is a sense of empty _melancholy._ Of something missing. 

"Are you alright, Ahsoka?" Bo-Katan's words draw her out of her swirling thoughts. 

"Huh?" She says, wiping furiously at her damp eyes. When had she started crying? "Yeah, I'm. I'm fine." She ducks her head and sniffles, refusing to look at Bo-Katan. Instead, she focuses on Rex talking to Din. 

Din's looking at the ground, head bowed, and she can't tell if he's saying anything. When he shakes his head, Rex carefully places a hand on the boy's shoulder, drawing him close. Din leans against Rex's side, closing his eyes.

She wishes the boy hadn’t had to live through a war, that he won't have to grow up knowing how to fight, but she knows how unlikely such a thing will be. She wishes he didn't already know what it is like to lose family and loved ones.

As she watches, Din slumps even further against Rex, his mouth dropping open slightly in sleep. Even from a distance, Ahsoka can see the startled look on Rex's face as he looks down at the sleeping child. But then his mouth twitches upward in a small smile and he carefully leans back into the tree, Din still at his side. He looks over at the two women and catches Ahsoka's eye, his expression shifting to something uncertain and self-conscious. Ahsoka returns his tentative smile and he gives her a slight nod before leaning his head back against the tree and closing his eyes.

Bo sighs. "I suppose I should find you two a place to bunk for the time being. And perhaps rescue Rex from having to tend to my foundling."

"I don't know…" Ahsoka says, eyes still on Rex. "He doesn't really seem to mind all that much." She's pretty sure Rex has never been so relaxed before and she's loath to disturb him. "Show me where you want us to stay first and I'll get our things."

"Alright," Bo shrugs. She turns away from Rex and Din with her hands on her hips to look over the encampment. Her expression turns thoughtful. "We're pretty limited on space here for the time being, to be honest. I can probably find room for both of you with different people." Her sharp gaze moves back to Ahsoka. "But I'm guessing you'd rather not split up?" 

Ahsoka's about to respond that they'd be fine to split up if they had to, but an inexplicable dread prevents any words from forming. 

Her expression must say enough, however, because Bo-Katan just nods. "I thought so. Well, I'll be headed back to Sundari again soon, so you can stay with me and Din for the time being."

"Are you sure?" Ahsoka asks apprehensively, thinking about her and Rex's inability to sleep through any given night.

Bo waves her off. "It'll be fine. The kid rarely manages to stay in his own bed most nights anyway, so you guys can take his room. We'll just have to grab an extra cot to set up in there."

\---

By the time Ahsoka goes back to the ship to grab their packs and return to the quaint dwelling, Bo has already found a spare bed and set it up. 

Setting the bags at the foot of each bed, Ahsoka looks around the small space. Din's room is sparsely furnished -- just his bed, a chest of drawers for clothes, and a box of toys sitting under the window -- but it's _cozy_. 

She runs her hand over a richly colored blanket that has been pulled up over the bed. The bright teal, yellow, and orange fabrics quilted together are a lovely contrast to the dark wooden furniture. A second blanket has been carefully folded and set on the second bed. Next to the toy box, yet more blankets have been heaped into a pile; in the center sits a stuffed toy. 

Ahsoka picks it up and runs her hands over its form -- each of the six legs, its long tail, and the four tufted ears. It's a fearsome looking little creature and she wonders if it's in the likeliness of a real animal or a mythological one. As she strokes her finger down the bumpy stitching down it's back, a feeling of wistfulness settles over her. She gently sets the doll back on its nest of blankets before wrapping her arms around herself and looking around the room once more. 

It's _comfortable_ and _loved_ \-- full of character and personality even in its humble simplicity. It hits her that, should she ever be able to settle down and have a place of her own, she'd like it to feel like this. 

_Wishful thinking_.

She shakes her head and, arms still wrapped around herself, makes her way back out to the main living space. Bo-Katan is sitting at the small table, making quick work of sewing a patch on a pair of pants. She looks up at Ahsoka's approach and sets down her project.

"Everything alright? Did you need anything else?"

"It'll work great, thank you," Ahsoka says before wringing her hands together in front of her. "You sure you don't mind us staying with you and Din?" She bites at her lip.

Bo waves her off. "I'm sure. It's the least I can do for you two after your help during the Siege." When Ahsoka doesn't say anything in response, she continues, "Dinner is normally a communal thing here. But due to your... circumstances and because you're guests, you won’t be expected to attend if you don't want to. I can prepare a meal for the four of us tonight and tomorrow we can discuss future meals."

 _A real meal._ Ahsoka's mouth waters at the thought of something more than rations and random bits of food they happened to be able to afford when they stopy for fuel and supplies. "That sounds perfect. Do you want help with it?"

Bo-Katan shakes her head and holds up her sewing. "I've got to get this finished first and then I'll get working on dinner. You go relax or see what Din and Rex are up to."

"Yes, ma'am." Ahsoka goes to leave but turns back to say, "Let me know if you change your mind."

Bo nods, but she's already focusing on her sewing again and doesn't say anything in response.

Ahsoka slips out of the small home and makes her way to the stand of trees Rex and Din had been at earlier. They're still there, apparently asleep.

Ahsoka is hesitant to approach them; Rex looks comfortable and relaxed, nestled amongst the roots of the large tree. He has his arm tucked protectively around Din, holding him close. The kid is curled up against his side, completely unbothered by the armor under his cheek. A soft breeze tousles their hair and the shifting leaves above them cause dapples of sunlight to flicker over their faces.

The scene almost feels surreal in its simple perfection; it causes Ahsoka's breath to catch. It's a rare moment of peace, especially for Rex, and Ahsoka is overcome again with that sense of nostalgic longing from earlier. Except it's still not _quite_ the same as nostalgia. It's a longing for something that never was, something she could never have. As she watches the sun and shadows play across Rex's and Din's sleeping forms, she wants to preserve the moment so that she may return to it when she needs a little light in her life.

"Would you quit staring?"

The grumbled words cut through the moment and Ahsoka blinks as she finds herself back in reality once more. Rex has one eye cracked open, his expression complicated as he watches her.

"I... sorry. Lost in thought." She struggles to find her balance again and shakes her head in an attempt to clear it. "Can I…" Her voice trails off, uncertain. She bites the inside of her cheek as she realizes she's forgotten what she came out here for. At a loss, she gestures weakly at the patch of ground next to Rex in question.

Rex looks at her for a moment longer, his brow furrowed as his eyes search hers. He eventually shrugs a shoulder, careful not to disturb the boy curled against him.

Ahsoka smiles wanly and moves to sit next to them under the tree. She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her shins. The awkward silence is back between them and Ahsoka could scream in frustration. She wants to apologise and fix what's broken between them -- wants her friend back -- but she knows if it's brought up before Rex is ready, she'll just push him further away. She gnaws on the inside of her bottom lip, trying to find _something_ to say. 

Everytime she goes to open her mouth, however, an apology is there waiting to slip past her lips. So she opts to not say anything at all. Instead, she rests her chin on her knees and tilts her head to look at Din.

Wavy dark brown hair curls around his ears and over his forehead. He's drawn one of his hands up close to his face and Ahsoka can see that he's sucking on the sleeve of his shirt in his sleep. 

"He seems like a good kid," Rex says quietly, breaking the tense silence. "Doesn't say much, though."

Ahsoka latches onto the offered safe topic like a lifeline. "Bo-Katan says he's hardly spoken at all in the months she's known him." She cuts her gaze up to Rex again. "Wait. He actually spoke to you?"

Another one shouldered shrug. "Only a word or two at a time. Mostly did a lot of humming and tongue clicking."

"Huh." She'll have to let Bo know. Speaking of… "Bo-Katan is letting us lodge with her for the time being."

"She ok with that?"

"She said she was. Otherwise we'd have to split up to stay elsewhere." A thought occurs to Ahsoka and she holds back a wince. "Which, you're welcome to do, of course. If you'd...rather not keep bunking together." So much for not bringing it up.

Rex sighs and shifts slightly before checking that the movements hadn't woken Din up. When the boy doesn't stir, Rex says, "I... No, that's fine." He clenches his jaw and Ahsoka waits for him to find whatever words he is looking for. It doesn't take him long. "Just...can you answer one thing for me?"

"Of course, Rex. Anything."

"Did you or any of the other Jedi ever use the Force on clones to make us do something?"

Ahsoka's stomach bottoms out at his quiet and unexpected question and it takes her a second to respond. "Never! I wouldn't _ever_ do something like that!" 

"And the others?"

Ahsoka feels vaguely sick. "I...I couldn't say." She wants to be able to say _no, never._ But she can't. 

Rex just nods and looks out towards the small settlement, lost in thought.

"Oh," Ahsoka breathes, a memory pushing itself to the forefront of her mind. "Oh, I…" No. No no no. She closes her eyes and lets out a long breath, feeling like she's going to unravel at the seams. "Rex. When you were….before I was able to…." She swallows and pushes the words out. Rex deserves to know. "To remove your inhibitor chip, I had to...had to use the Force. On you. To...calm your mind. The chip was making it so noisy that the medical droid couldn't find it in its scan so I. I did the only thing I could think of." She's shaking and feels like she's going to be sick all over again. 

_I'm so sorry_. 

The words feel so inadequate. So utterly meaningless given the whole fucked up situation. She's not sure they're even worth saying at this point. If he was upset with her earlier, he's likely beyond angry now. 

She feels like she's going to lose the last person she has in her life. She lost the Jedi twice -- once when they hunted her down for a crime she didn't commit and again with Order 66. Anakin. Obi-wan. Plo. Out of all of them, losing those three hurt the most. And then there's the entire 501st -- the 332nd division, specifically. All the men she had fought alongside and gotten to know personally; she had loved and cared for all of them. 

Seeing them again after being gone for so long had soothed a deep ache in her soul she hadn't realized she'd been living with since she left the Order. Jedi weren't supposed to have attachments, but she hasn't been a Jedi in months and they had been her _family_. And other than Anakin and Obi-wan, who had been like a brother and an eccentric uncle, Rex is her closest friend. He's her _only_ friend and family now, and if she has truly managed to drive him away with her thoughtless actions… She's not sure she can handle losing another loved one after losing so many others. 

She pulls her knees even tighter to her chest, but it brings little comfort. She glances up at Rex, afraid of what expression she might find on his face. 

He's still looking into the distance, his gaze directed away from her. From what she can see of his face, his expression is completely unreadable. That in itself scares her. How long has it been since the last time he so thoroughly kept what he was feeling off his face when he was around her? 

She closes her eyes again and tries to breathe through her growing panic. Distantly, she registers the sound of a long sigh.

"I forgive you."

Her eyes fly open and she stops breathing for a second. He's still not looking at her. Maybe he hadn't actually said anything? Maybe she just imagined those words because they're what she wants to hear.

"What?" 

He turns his head and meets her eyes. "I forgive you," he says again. He breaks eye contact and watches the soft rise and fall of Din's chest. "You did what you had to. And. I know your only motive was to help. Both times." 

He pauses and Ahsoka can feel the unsaid _but_ at the end of his sentence. He forgives her, _but he doesn't trust her._

Ahsoka's heart feels like it might break if it wasn't already in so many little pieces. She takes a deep shuddering breath. This is okay. He forgives her and she still has him. Trust can be earned again. It still hurts though, and part of her relishes the pain. He has every right not to trust her. 

"Okay," she says, voice smaller than she'd like. "Okay." She swallows, trying to find the words she needs, but none of them feel quite right. "It won't happen again. I swear." She needs him to know that she means it. Taking a risk, she reaches out and touches his forearm that is holding Din to his side. "Rex," she all but pleads. "I mean it." She'll never use the Force again if it means he will continue being her friend.

Rex doesn't shift away from her touch. Instead, he reaches over Din with his other hand and places it on top of hers. "I know you do." Ahsoka tangles her fingers around his and squeezes; something in her chest loosens when he squeezes back.

They sit like that for a time, Ahsoka choosing to set aside her confusing emotions and just try to enjoy the quiet together.

A twig snaps a short distance away and both Ahsoka and Rex whip their heads around to see what caused the disturbance. She releases the blaster at her hip only when she recognizes Bo approaching them, her hands raised slightly in a calming gesture.

"I was just coming to let you know that dinner is ready whenever you wish to eat."

"I could eat now, if that's alright," Rex says, carefully sitting up all the way. 

Ahsoka would rather continue sitting outside, but if Rex is ready to eat she's not going to say no. "Now works for me too," she says, uncurling herself to stand up. 

Din lets out a string of nonsense grumbling and Bo rolls her eyes at him. "Now it is, then," she says. "I'll even take this little one off your hands so you can enjoy it." Kneeling down next to Rex, Bo gently cards her hand through Din's hair. "Come on, _Sen'ika,_ let's get you fed."

Din opens his eyes and Ahsoka nearly laughs at his annoyed expression. Even without words, he is able to perfectly convey the universal sentiment of ' _whatever you woke me up for better be good._ ' Despite his obvious irritation, he reaches to Bo, who scoops him up and settles him on her hip. As she begins moving forward, Din's arms automatically wrap around Bo's neck. He rests his head on her shoulder, yawning widely. 

Ahsoka smiles at him and he stares back, his dark eyes intense. He looks around her at the sound of Rex standing up then meets her eyes again. She has no idea what he's thinking, but he must come to some conclusion before closing his eyes and turning his head the other way. 

Rex doesn't say anything as he moves past Ahsoka to follow Bo.

She watches the three of them for a moment, feeling slightly out of place. Then, sighing, she jogs forward to catch up.

\----

Later that night, Ahsoka lies tossing and turning under the brightly colored blanket, unable to fall asleep. She's uncertain if it's due to the new location or her recurring insomnia, but as far as she can tell, Rex isn't sleeping well either.

After staring blankly at the wall for an unknown amount of time, she finally starts drifting off. Just as she's beginning to feel the heavy weight of sleep settle over her, she senses a shift in the air of the room. Immediately on alert, she fixes her eyes on the wall once more while she listens intently. 

She hears the sound of Rex letting out a long sigh and then a creak of a floorboard. Wondering if he's okay, she turns over to ask, only to find that he's already making his way over to her. He stops next to her bedside and opens his mouth only to close it again after not saying anything.

"Rex?"

Shaking his head once, he rubs at the back of his neck and refuses to look at her. But he doesn't leave, either. 

In a way, his behavior reminds her of how Anakin used to hover around Obi-wan at meal times occasionally -- he clearly wanted something, but he'd never directly ask for it for whatever reason. When Obi-wan eventually noticed Anakin was there, he'd sigh before handing over a piece of fruit or a sweet of some kind. Anakin then took the offered food and reverted back to his usual self while eating it, as though his previous behavior had never occurred. 

So with that in mind, she figures Rex likely wants something but is too uncertain how to ask for it. After considering the situation for a moment, she silently scoots over on her bed before turning over to face the wall once more; the less attention she gives the situation, the less embarrassed Rex is likely to be.

The mattress shifts when he climbs into the bed and she lets out a quiet sigh, relieved to have guessed right. He curls up against her and settles there; their only point of contact is his forehead pressed to the lekku at the back of her head. 

She holds her breath at the light sense of expectancy between them, wondering if he is going to say anything. Maybe he's waiting for her to say something first? She gnaws at her bottom lip, indecisive, the whole situation seemingly as fragile as a convor egg.

"Sleep," Rex grumbles, near-sleep grogginess thickening his accent. "Just. Quit overthinkin' and sleep."

The note of wary caution in his voice keeps Ahsoka from asking any of the questions running through her head. Instead, she lets out a sigh and nods her head. "Yessir," she whispers, closing her eyes.

With Rex's comforting heat at her back, she quickly settles back down. As she begins to drift off, she can't help but hope that while everything is still a mess, perhaps things are starting to mend between them. 

She falls asleep with a small, contented smile on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos are great but comments are life!
> 
> If you'd like to hang out and chat more about Clone Wars, Din and Mandalorian culture in general, I've created [a discord server!](https://discord.gg/xPnbDTvWDa)


End file.
